


The Now We Can't Escape

by PensToTheEnd



Series: Past, Present, and Future [2]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: AU - both play hockey, Assault, Bisexuality, Doesn't follow any particular season, F/M, Homosexuality, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, Obsession, Other, PTSD, Panic Attacks, Past Rape/Non-con, Rape, Stalking, Will Be VERY Dark at times, death of a character, difficult subjects, kidnapping/abduction, non-canon, past child sexual abuse, psychosis - break with reality
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-24
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2018-11-04 14:46:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 26
Words: 41,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10993095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PensToTheEnd/pseuds/PensToTheEnd
Summary: Patrick thinks he's left his past behind him.  He has a new life.  He's in love with Jonathan Toews and Jonny loves him.  Together they helped their team win the Stanley Cup.  Left behind are Patrick's days living with a coach who sexually abused him.  Left behind are the days of being a runaway, of having to turn tricks to help support himself and the other runaways he was living with.  Left behind is a family that didn't want him, that sold him to his coach to use for sex.But, what happens when his past isn't left behind?  What happens when his past shows up again and he can't escape it?Sequel to The Past We Left Behind





	1. He Is Mine

Patrick hoisted the cup over his head.He tipped his head back and bent his arms to bring it down so he could plant a kiss on the shining silver.In that moment, he couldn’t fathom what his life had become, how everything had turned out so differently than he imagined it would when he ran away from the abusive situation with his coach.

He was in the NHL.He had just capped off a successful rookie season with a Stanley Cup win, including getting the series winning goal.And, the best part of his life was standing a few feet away, a huge grin on his face as he watched Patrick skate with the cup.He had Jonathan Toews.

What would his life have become had Jonny not stopped and picked him up that night?Would he still be working the street with Jason and the others?Would he be dead?As he skated, he tried to just enjoy the moment, but he couldn’t stop himself from thinking about all the what ifs in his life.But not only his life, Jason, Kristi, Mikey, all of the kids that had been helped by Patrick’s Place, the homeless shelter he founded with Jon.Well, it was more than just a shelter.It was a chance at a new start in life.

None of that would have been possible if he hadn’t met Jon.

Patrick handed the cup off to a teammate, he couldn’t tell you which one for sure, then skated over to hug Jon again.They could openly hug and hang on each other here, as they celebrated winning the cup.They could be just like their married teammates.

To a point.

Patrick wanted to lean up and plant a big, wet kiss right on Jon’s lips.But that would be crossing the line.That would be showing the true nature of their relationship in public.And, although things had been okay since they came out, they new that public displays of affection wouldn't go over well. So, they didn't flaunt the physical side of their relationship. Not even after winning the cup.

Patrick was also happy to have Jon’s family to hang with on the ice.Andree and Bryan making sure that Patrick was included in all of the family photos with the cup.The press and fans may have thought it a bit odd, but it could be easily explained that they had taken Patrick in to their family just as Jon had opened his home to Patrick. 

Of all the jumble of emotions Patrick was feeling, the best thing was the feeling that he wasn’t alone any longer.And, that he had a family that loved him.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

He sat with the others in the common room watching as the Chicago Blackhawks won the Stanley Cup, everyone commenting on the small winger that had scored the game winning goal.Some talking about having seen him play for the London Knights.Most knew his story.Running away from an abusive coach.Meeting the captain of the Blackhawks.His coach ending up in prison.Then having his father be convicted of selling the boy to the coach for sex.

They talked about how much he had overcome in his life to get this far.He was a success story.And they all hoped the coach rotted in hell for what he’d done.Some openly hoped that the other inmates wherever he was incarcerated took care of the piece of shit.

The man just nodded and agreed with them.He knew to keep his mouth shut.They didn’t know who he was.Didn’t know his crime.It was for his safety that the truth was kept secret.

As he sat there, though, he watched Patrick Kane and his heart ached.It ached for the lost love he had with this boy.His boy.His Patty.

At first, he’d hated Patrick after the boy had gone to the authorities and he’d been charged.Hated that Patrick had betrayed him. Hated that Patrick had left him.Patrick had glared at him coldly, emotionlessly, at the sentence hearing.Before that, maybe for a brief moment, he’d felt guilt about what he’d done.That guilt leading to him taking a plea agreement.

But, he’d had time to think now.He’d had months locked up here to think about nothing but Patrick Kane.And in those months, his guilt, then hated, had twisted into something else.Something deep and dark that existed only in his mind.

William Anderson knew that Patrick could still be his.Patrick still loved him.He did.He was forced to go to the authorities.Forced by Jonathan Toews.He watched the way Patrick looked at Toews.He looked unhappy.He knew, he just knew it was because Patrick was longing for him.They had been going to do this together, get Patrick to the NHL, win the cup.It had been their dream.Now, Patrick was there without him and he could see that it was making his Patty unhappy.

He had to find a way to get to him.Because, if he could just get to Patrick, get him alone, he could show him again how much he loved him.And, Patrick would be his again.


	2. Summer Plans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay.  We can have our days with the Cup up there.  Unless you want to take it to Buffalo or London at all.”  Jon said.  
> “No.  Winnipeg is good.  There’s nobody back there I want to celebrate with, just you and your family now.”  Pat took Jon’s tea and set it with his on the coffee table.  He climbed on Jon’s lap so he was straddling his thighs facing him.  “So, tell me.  How many times this summer am I going to get to say I fucked a Stanley Cup champion?”  
> “As many times as I do.”  Jon smiled as Patrick leaned in to kiss him.  
> Two week later, they flew to Winnipeg for the summer.

The past week had been a whirlwind of activity.  The Cup parade.  Parties.  Interviews and special appearances.  Jonny, as captain, was at almost every event.  Patrick was always at his side or not far away.  This morning it had been a private event, no press, as they’d taken the Cup to Patrick’s Place for  a celebration with Patrick’s other family.  Afterwards, they had the afternoon to themselves and Jon wanted to talk about their summer plans.

“So, what do you want to do this summer?”  Jon flopped down on the couch and hollered towards the kitchen where Patrick was. 

“I thought we were going to Winnipeg.  Spend a few weeks at the lake.”  Patrick hollered back.

“We can do that.  I have commitments with Canadian Tire and a few other endorsements that I could take care of while we were there.”

“I got offered a deal.”  Patrick said as he walked in and sat down next to Jon, handing him a glass of ice tea.  “Gatorade.”

“That’s great, Patrick!”  Jonny sounded more excited than Patrick, which didn’t surprise him. 

Patrick still had a hard time dealing with the attention he got.  Jon figured it had to do with the bad things from his past, that Patrick always worried that no matter what people said, they were judging him because of what his parents did, what his coach did, what he did.   More than once, Jon had talked and held Patrick through a panic attack brought on by some comment by a fan or in a news article.

Two years after everything had come out about William Anderson and Patrick Kane, Sr., and what they had conspired to do to Patrick, Jon was still dealing with the fallout.  It helped that Patrick saw a counselor regularly, that was something Patrick Sharp had insisted when he’d become Patrick’s guardian that first summer.  Thank god for Sharpy and his wisdom.  While Patrick had seemingly had his shit together, deep down, he was a mess.  And once he relaxed, once the fear of ever being sent back to his parents or his coach was gone, the wall Patrick hid his emotions behind had come tumbling down.

That first year, while Patrick played for the Chicago Steel, he’d quietly gone about playing hockey and putting his life back together.  Patrick didn’t think, no he knew he couldn’t have done it without Jon and his friends. 

Jon sat next to him now, a little worried.  “Aren’t you excited about it?”

“No, yeah, I’m happy.”  Patrick answered, sounding a little more excited.  “I think I can do whatever they want in Winnipeg, too.  I’ll let Brisson know I’m taking the deal.”

“Okay.  We can have our days with the Cup up there.  Unless you want to take it to Buffalo or London at all.”  Jon said.

“No.  Winnipeg is good.  There’s nobody back there I want to celebrate with, just you and your family now.”  Pat took Jon’s tea and set it with his on the coffee table.  He climbed on Jon’s lap so he was straddling his thighs facing him.  “So, tell me.  How many times this summer am I going to get to say I fucked a Stanley Cup champion?”

“As many times as I do.”  Jon smiled as Patrick leaned in to kiss him.

Two week later, they flew to Winnipeg for the summer.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

He had to figure out a way to get out of here.  As long as he was stuck in this place, he couldn’t go to Patty.  Especially after Patty had sent him the latest letter begging him to come help him get away from Jonathan Toews.  Patty had started writing him several months ago.  He cherished each letter, keeping them tucked away under his mattress.

It had come just two days after he’d watched the Cup parade.  At the end of the parade, Patty had gotten up and thanked him for everything he’d done for Patty.  He’d looked right in the camera and thanked his coach.  It had made his heart ache again, but also fill with pride for all Patty had accomplished.

He sat on his bunk and read the letter again and again.

_Coach Bill,_

_I miss you so much.  Did you see me on TV?  I told them it was because of you that I’m here.  All because of you.  Your love is what has gotten me this far._

_They won’t let me come see you as much as I want to.  I hate them.  I hate Jonathan Toews.  I hate the Blackhawks.  What they made me do to you.  I am so sorry.  I would never have hurt you like that if they hadn’t been forcing me.  I love you._

_Please come help me.  I need you.  I need you to come save me.  You can be my agent.  Get me traded to a different team so they can’t control me, so Jonathan Toews can’t tell me what to do.  Please.  I need you.  I need you to still love me.  Do you?  Do you still love me?_

_I miss the way you held me.  I miss having you make love to me.  I miss getting to have you.  I just miss you.  I want to have you inside me, I want to feel you fucking me so hard.  You whispering my name in my ear.  Your hands holding me down.  I have to have you with me._

_If he won’t let me go, I know you will take care of him.  You’re bigger and stronger than him.  You could easily hurt him.  I wish you would.  I wish you would hurt them all for taking me away from you._

_I love you.  We’ll be together soon.  I know it._

_Your Patty_

He knew he needed to get to Patty soon, this summer if he could.  That way they could get him to a new team for the next season.  He read the letter again.  So many times Patty told him how much he loved him in all the letters.  This was the first time though that Patty had talked about hurting Jonathan Toews.  He hated Jonathan Toews.  Jonathan Toews was hurting Patty by forcing him to stay in Chicago.  Patty was right.  If he had to hurt Jonathan Toews to help Patty, he would.  He could.

He put the letter down on the bed when the guards announced it was time for dinner.  He got up and filtered out of his cell and got in line with the other inmates.  While he was gone, the guards came in and did a quick inspection of his cell.  One of them picked up the paper that was on the bed, a page torn out of a magazine.  He didn’t think much of it, Anderson had been collecting pages for a while now.  Normally they were under his mattress.  This was a fairly low security facility, and having the articles or ads, or whatever it was he wanted from the page wasn’t hurting anything.  This, in fact, was just a couple of ads, so he laid it back down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, word of advice to myself for the future. Make sure you re-read the first story closely before you post the sequel. Minor edit to Chapter 1 after I kept thinking - they came out - and so I went and read the other story and yeah... they did... half-way through Patrick's season with the Steel...so... a slight edit was needed to reflect that...


	3. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His mind was working.  This was his opportunity to get away.  To get to Patty.  He had to think.  How.  How could he get out of these hand-cuffs?  He kept an eye on the nurses in the emergency room as they came in and out of treatment area.  He could see the police officer standing just outside the curtain as they brushed past it.  He looked around the room for something to use. 

Was his crime of a violent nature? Definitely.Should he have been in a mid- to high-security facility? Probably.Did that happen?Of course not.

Several factors were taken into consideration as to where he would be incarcerated.There was the consideration that even though his crime was considered a violent offense, it did not involve death or severe bodily injury.There was the issue of his safety, as a child sex offender, if placed in the general population with more violent offenders.Then there was his psychological evaluation.He fell into the ‘able to be rehabilitated’ classification, with minimal security risk.

He was assigned to the minimum-security unit at the Beaver Creek Institution in Gravenhurst, Ontario.While there, he would undergo treatment designed to lead to rehabilitation and possible early release.He impressed the psychologists and therapists.He said and did all the right things.He was smart.He knew how to play the game.

Things were going well that first year.He talked about what he’d done.To the others.To Patrick.It was when they really started talking about Patrick that things began to change in his mind.As he sat alone in his cell at night, he thought about his relationship with Patrick.His Patty.He talked about it with the therapist.It was wrong.He said that.He was smart.He knew what they wanted to hear.

But it wasn’t wrong.It hadn’t been wrong.Patty had been his.Patty had loved him.Patty had enjoyed their love making as much as he did.Didn’t Patty come to him when he was hurt, or lonely, or had had a bad game?Coming to his bed.Climbing in with him and seeking comfort in physical touch.Yes.Patty wanted the sex as much as he did.At least, that’s the way he remembered things.The more he thought about it, the more his mind believed it.

About a year and a half into his sentence, he was sitting reading a magazine in the facility’s library, one of the benefits of being in this place.An ad for the NHL caught his eye.It showed several players and was touting voting for the All-Star game.He picked him out instantly.Tufts of blond hair sticking out from under his helmet.The piercing blue eyes staring back at him.

Patty.

He didn’t let himself rip the page out of the magazine.That would draw too much attention.He was smart.He knew he had to hid this.He knew though that Patty was trying to contact him.

Patty sent him the first letter a short time after that.Nothing long or detailed, just a few lines to tell him that Patty was thinking of him, that he missed him, and that he wanted to be with him.He tucked the letter under his mattress, pulling it out to read every day.The guards at first were going to take it, but then one of them said it didn’t hurt anything, so they let him have it.They let him keep all of Patty’s letters as he got them.

His therapists asked about them, about why he was keeping them.He liked reading them was his answer.He didn’t elaborate.But, they had to see.Patty was the one who had initiated this.He wanted to write back to Patty.But.He was smart.They wouldn’t like that.

By the time he saw Patrick on the TV after winning the Stanley Cup, his mind had twisted reality into a deep, dark delusion, a perversion of the past and present.He was smart.He kept it hidden from them.Always just telling them what he knew they wanted to hear.Always hiding his actions from them.Besides, couldn’t they still see that Patty was the one who was the aggressor here.Patty reaching out to him.

Then he’d slipped up right after that.Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. It was a stupid thing.He’d slipped up and said that Patty had said he’d won the Cup because of all he’d taught him.One little mistake.And things came unraveled.They took Patrick’s letters.He protested and tried to fight them.They were his letters he kept saying.He didn’t care anymore.He couldn’t hide this anymore.They were from Patty.They were his.Patty was his.

They ended up sedating him and restraining him.The psychiatrist chastising his staff for not picking up on the depth of Anderson’s psychosis.They decided to transfer him to a secure psychiatric facility where he could be further diagnosed and treated.

It should have been a routine transport between the two facilities.

The transport van proceeded through the traffic light.It was green.The box truck coming from the left should have stopped for the red light.It didn’t.The truck plowed into the driver’s side, pushing the van through the intersection and into the cars sitting in the opposite lane that were waiting for the light to turn green.

The guard driving the van was severely injured.The other guard was injured but not as bad.Anderson had been seat-belted in the backseat on the side opposite the impact point.He hit his head on the window and was dazed.Other than a few other bruises, he wasn’t hurt.

Ambulances came.They transported them all to the hospital.The second guard, before he too lost consciousness, managed to tell the police that Anderson needed to be kept restrained.An officer rode in the ambulance with Anderson to the hospital, keeping him hand-cuffed to the cot.

His mind was working.This was his opportunity to get away.To get to Patty.He had to think.How.How could he get out of these hand-cuffs?He kept an eye on the nurses in the emergency room as they came in and out of treatment area.He could see the police officer standing just outside the curtain as they brushed past it.He looked around the room for something to use.

“We’re going to take some x-rays.” He heard one of the nurses say to the officer.“They’ll bring over a portable unit so we don’t have to move him from here.”

“Thanks.”The guy said.“If they need him unhooked, let me know.”

And with that, everyone disappeared.He was alone.He used his free hand to reach over and grab the small object off the treatment tray that the nurse had left when she’d treated the cut above his eye.Carefully, he worked the lock.

When the nurse slide back the curtain to help the x-ray tech bring the machine in, she yelled in shock.The officer pushed around her and froze, staring at the empty bed and the pair of hand-cuffs still attached to the side rail.


	4. The Notification

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry, Jon.  Patrick.  You’re right, this shouldn’t have happened.  But it’s worse than just him escaping.  I told your parents a little bit, just enough to convey that they needed to find you, but I didn’t tell them everything.”  
> Jon looked from the phone to Patrick, whose eyes widened at her words.  
> “Worse?  How could it be worse?”  Jon went and sat at the table next to Patrick, who reached to hold Jon’s hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Very sorry for the delay in updating... should be more often from this point... brain farts happen ya know...

Patrick sits at the table as Jon fixes them breakfast.It’s just been the two of them at the lake so far and it has been incredible.They’ve gone hiking, swimming, kayaking, and done a lot of just vegging in the sun.They’ve also spent their fair share of time having sex.Sex in the bedroom.Sex in the kitchen.Sex on the couch.Sex on the front porch.Sex on the dock.Sex in the lake.Sex.Sex.Sex.

Patrick is feeling pretty proud of himself this morning about that.He got Jon to fuck him in the woods during their early morning, before breakfast hike.He twisted, feeling the scratches on his back that he’d gotten when Jon pushed him up against the large Oak.

“My back itches.”Patrick says, more as a way to poke at Jon than a true complaint.“There’d better not have been any poison ivy where we were.”

“I told you, no poison ivy, no poison oak.You’re just paranoid, city boy.”

Patrick smiled.Jon thought he was this big nature boy, but he’d grown up in a city, too.

“Are you sure?”

Jon set the fork down he was using to flip the bacon in the cast iron skillet and walked over to Patrick.He bent and kissed Patrick’s forehead.“Yes.I’m sure.But let me look at your back anyway.”

Patrick turned in the chair and lifted his shirt.Bright red scratches marked his back.

“Ouch!”Jon whistled through his teeth.“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Cause I was too caught up in you fucking me in the great wide-open.”Patrick chided.“The idea that my back was getting slammed against a tree root wasn’t a priority at the time.”

Jon went to the bedroom and came back with a bottle of lotion, making Patrick strip out of his shirt so he could rub his back with it.

“Better?” He asked, leaning down to kiss Patrick’s cheek and nuzzle his neck.

“Mmmm... yep,” Patrick sighed.

“Shit!” Jon exclaimed, jerking back unexpectedly.“The bacon.”

Patrick looked over at the cast iron skillet where flames were shooting up.

“Fuck!”Jon grabbed a cookie sheet and put it over top of the skillet, smothering the flames.“That was close.”

“Wouldn’t be good to burn down the cabin,” Patrick laughed.“Did you ruin the bacon?”

They were so focused on the near disaster they didn’t hear the car pull-up or the doors slam.The first they knew that someone was there was when they heard Jon’s parents yelling their names.

“Oh thank god you’re both okay.”Andree’ exclaimed, rushing up the porch steps and throwing her arms around Jon as he stepped out of the cabin.

“What’s going on?”Patrick asked, he and Jon exchanging confused looks as Andree’ pulled him into the embrace as well.

“We’ve been trying to get you since yesterday.You aren’t answering your phones or texts.We’ve been worried sick.”

“Maman?Papa?What’s wrong?You know we don’t have cell coverage here.”

“Something’s happened.Oh, Patrick, something bad has happened.”

“What?What’s going on?”Patrick stepped back.

“He escaped.I don’t know how.They called us, trying to find you to warn you.He escaped weeks ago and they just called us yesterday and...”

“Who?What?”Patrick looked stunned.“My dad?”

“Anderson.”

Patrick’s knees buckled and he dropped down to the porch floor.Jon was at his side in an instant.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I don’t care.”Jon yelled as he paced the room.“How the fuck do you let this happen?”

“Jonny, please.”Patrick said softly.

They were back at Jon’s parents’ in Winnipeg, talking to the prosecutor who had handled Patrick’s case.

“No, Patrick, I will not calm down.I want answers.”He turns to the phone, which is on speaker.“How?Why?Whose brilliant idea was it to put him in minimum security to begin with?And we’re just now finding out that he could have been released early as well?How did this happen?”

“Jon.”Patrick says more forcefully.“Stop.It’s not her fault.”

Jon crosses his arms over his chest and huffs loudly.“It’s somebody’s fault.”

“I’m sorry, Jon.Patrick.You’re right, this shouldn’t have happened.But it’s worse than just him escaping.I told your parents a little bit, just enough to convey that they needed to find you, but I didn’t tell them everything.”

Jon looked from the phone to Patrick, whose eyes widened at her words.

“Worse?How could it be worse?”Jon went and sat at the table next to Patrick, who reached to hold Jon’s hand.

“He’s apparently has a psychiatric problem, a break from reality of some sort.I don’t have all the details, but that’s why they were moving him to a secure mental facility for treatment.From what I’ve been told, he may be a threat to both of you.”

“A threat?”Patrick repeats.

“He believed you were contacting him, imagining he was getting letters.Again, I’m still not sure exactly what took place, but the psychiatrist that initially became aware of the issue said that Anderson made comments about needing to get to Patrick,” she paused, “and, well, protecting him from you Jon.”

“Protecting me?Fuck him.” Patrick swore.

“Why would he think...”Jon started to say.

“He thinks you took Patrick from him, I guess.”She explained.

“Why are we just now being notified?He’s been out for weeks.”Jon growled.“If there is the possibility of him coming after Patrick, he should have been called right away.”

“I agree.I can’t tell you how sorry I am, there are no excuses.But luckily we got word to you before anything happened.You need to take steps for your safety now that you know.If, well, when he is apprehended we’ll notify you.”

Patrick sat looking down at his hand, fingers laced with Jon’s, after the call ended.

“It’ll be okay, Peeks.”Jon tried to sound positive, not to let Patrick hear the fear he was trying to fight down.

“What if he does come after you?”

“We’ll deal with it.I think, first, we need to call Stan and let him know what’s going on.See what kind of security the ‘Hawks can give us.We probably need to go back to Chicago.He may not be able to get back into the States, with the tighter border security, so it might be safer there.”

Jon stood and stepped close to Patrick, who wrapped his arms around Jon’s waist and buried his head against Jon’s mid-section.Jon held Patrick tightly.

“Fuck, Jonny.Fuck.Why?Everything has been so great.I thought.I thought I would never have to deal with that shit again.”Patrick lamented.

“It’ll be okay.I promise, Peeks.”


	5. Rat In A Cage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Stop it.”  Patrick huffed.  “I’m mad at you.”  
> “Cute, little, angry rat.”  Jon whispered into Patrick’s ear before he nuzzled against his neck, kissing his way down. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies for this update taking so long... life happens... and I've had some serious computer issues... thought I lost it completely -- twice -- in the last month. Which hasn't helped with anything in my life going right...  
> This is short... and happy... and smutty... so enjoy before we get back into the darker stuff... updates should be much more frequent now... well... as long as my computer holds out...  
> Thanks as always for the comments... love them all!

At first it wasn’t so bad having them around all the time, but after a couple of weeks Patrick started to feel like a rat trapped in a cage with the constant presence of the security guards the Blackhawks hired to keep an eye on him and Jon 24 hours a day since their return to Chicago.There was always at least one guy stationed outside their house, and two with Jon and Patrick wherever they went.Neither could just drive themselves anywhere either, having to be chauffeured by their ever-present body guards.

August passed without incident.September brought the start of training camp, something to take their minds off things.Patrick and Jon, as well as everyone else, were beginning to believe that William Anderson wasn’t going to come after Patrick.There had been no sign of him in Chicago, no indication that he had found a way to cross the border back in to the United States even.

Patrick hoped that being around the team would mean that the constant security would get cut back, but that wasn’t the case.There was always a person stationed outside the locker room, and when they were on the ice, there was a body guard in the bench area.Always.Even though none of their teammates complained, Patrick was sure they were annoyed with everything.

He thought that maybe it would ease up on the road.The Hawks, however, arranged for the security even then, which Patrick found out on their first away game of the preseason, an overnight trip to Vancouver.

“He’s right outside.”Patrick paced back and forth.

“Yes.He is.”Jon said calmly as he unpacked his suitcase.

“I don’t think he needs to be right outside the door, Jonny.”

“We’re in Canada.”

“Your point?”

“If he hasn’t been seen crossing the border, he’s still in Canada, too.”

“You think he’s in Vancouver?Really?”Patrick threw his arms up, emphasizing his exasperation.“I swear.He’s not going to come after me at this point.I really don’t think so.It’s been months and nothing.No letters.No phone calls, not even suspicious heavy breather, no talking calls.Nothing, Jonny.”

“That doesn’t mean he’s not going to try something.Until they catch him, you need to just put up with it.”Jon looked up from his suitcase and smiled.“It’s not as bad as you make it out to be, Patrick.It’s not like we’re being kept under lock and key.We can do whatever we want.”

“No we can’t.I feel like some sort of pet in a cage.Trapped.”Patrick scrunched his nose up, held his hands up in front of his chest like paws while he made a “pft, pft, pft” sound.“A rat in a cage.That’s me.”

Jon couldn’t help laughing.

“I’m serious, Jonny.”

Jon walked over and intercepted Patrick as he turned to pace back across the room, putting his hands on Patrick’s shoulders and making him stop.

“I’m serious, too.I don’t want anything to happen to you, okay.”He bent and kissed Patrick’s forehead.“Cause you are the most adorable rat I’ve ever seen.”

“Stop it.”Patrick huffed.“I’m mad at you.”

“Cute, little, angry rat.”Jon whispered into Patrick’s ear before he nuzzled against his neck, kissing his way down.Jon slid his hands down Patrick’s chest over the material of his dress shirt, stopping at the waistband of his dress pants.

“No.Jonny, stop it.”Patrick protested, trying to step back.Jon hooked his fingers in Patrick’s belt and held him in place.“He’s right outside.”

“So?”

“He’ll hear us?”

“Are you saying you can’t be quiet?”Jon dropped down to his knees in front of Patrick and started to undo his belt.“Let’s see if you can?”

“Jonny, stop it.”Patrick tried to push Jon’s hands away again, but only half-heartedly.

Once he had the belt undone, Jon quickly popped the button and unzipped Patrick’s pants, pulling them down his legs.Patrick had stopped protesting and just laid his hands on Jon’s shoulders, but kept chewing on his lower lip nervously.Jon stroked up and down Patrick’s hard shaft through his briefs while he looked up at Patrick’s face.

“See, I knew you’d like this.”Jon leaned forward and mouthed the head of Patrick’s cock, leaving a dark spot on the grey colored material.

“Jesus, Jon.”Patrick gritted his teeth.

“Need to be quiet, remember.”Jon hooked his fingers into the waistband and tugged the briefs down freeing Patrick’s hard cock, which he quickly took into his mouth and started licking at the tip.

“Not fair, Jon.So fucking not fair.” Patrick swore at him, but he didn’t try to move away.

Patrick groaned, low, trying desperately to hold in the sounds of his pleasure.Jon’s tongue flicked over the slit of Patrick’s cock, his lips holding the tip firmly.His hands slipped around to squeeze Patrick’s ass and pull his hips to him as he let all of Patrick’s cock slide into his mouth.Slow and deliberate, Jon worked his mouth up and down Patrick, his tongue pressed firmly against the underside of Patrick’s cock.

“Jonny.Jon.Please.”Patrick tried to stifle his moans.

Jon squeezing his ass and pulling his hips again as he brought his head down was all the encouragement Patrick needed.He rocked his hips forward, fucking in to Jon’s warm, wet mouth.The pressure of Patrick’s hands on Jon’s head increased slightly, just enough to hold Jon’s head still.Patrick rocked his hips again, fucking Jon’s mouth in a slow, steady rhythm.Jon hummed around Patrick’s cock as it slid over his tongue.

Patrick tipped his head back and bit his lower lip, the pressure building in him.

“Jonny, I’m gonna... fuck... fuck....” Patrick cried out as his orgasm hit him, his come spurting into Jon’s mouth.Jon pushed his head down until his lips hit Patrick’s groin, he held himself there, sucking Patrick through the waves of release.Pulling back just enough to swallow then pushing down again, Jon used his tongue and lips to milk every drop out of Patrick.When he felt Patrick’s legs start to shake, Jon pulled off.He gave the tip of Patrick’s cock a few more licks and sucks before letting go.

Patrick managed to get to the bed, collapsing backwards across it.

“Well, that should help you relax.”Jon smirked, wiping the back of his hand across his lips.

“God, Jon.I’m... I’m... fuck... do with me as you will.I can’t move.”

Jon got up off the floor, went to the bathroom to wash off his face and hands and came back out.Patrick hadn’t moved an inch, lying right where Jon left him.His eyes closed, a happy, peaceful look on his face.Jon climbed up on the bed and laid down, slapping Patrick’s thigh on the way by.

“Come on.” He said softly.

Patrick opened one eye and looked at Jon suspiciously.

“You don’t want?”

“Nah, I’m good.C’mere.”Jon patted the bed next to him.

Patrick rolled over and made his way across the bed to snuggle in against Jon’s side, resting his head on Jon’s shoulder as Jon wrapped an arm around him.

“Mmmmm.”Patrick mewled.

They stayed that way, napping, until they had to get up and get ready to go to dinner with the team.


	6. Shocking News

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay?”  
> “I guess.”  Patrick sighs, relaxing in Jon’s arms.  “I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.  Happy?  Relieved?”  
> “Sad?”  
> “Maybe.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter again. Wanted to post what I had while I could.

The season started and still there was no sign of William Anderson. Jon and Patrick fell into their regular season routine.Life became hockey.It would have been easy to forget about everything else, except for their ever-present shadows.Thoughts of Anderson never completely faded away.The fear that he would show up always there.

As October rolled into November, the Hawks winning ways carried over from the previous season.Patrick focused on defending their Cup.Jon focused on taking care of Patrick.Patrick had gone back to seeing the therapist Sharpy had set him up with the previous year.Jon had insisted when Patrick had started waking up in the middle of the night, shaking and terrified.

Jon does what he can to take Patrick’s mind off Anderson as often as possible.Especially on certain days.They celebrated Patrick’s twentieth birthday on the road in Florida.Sharpy, Seabs and Jon arranged for a cake when they went out for dinner.They were back in Chicago for only a couple of games before they headed out again, this time for the two-week circus trip.The end of November and beginning of December would be spent on the road.

They’re in Edmonton on Thanksgiving Day, American Thanksgiving that was.Jon kept reminding Patrick of that fact every time he mentioned it.They watch the Macy’s parade in the morning, then join everyone for a Thanksgiving feast arranged by the team for the players, coaches and staff that were on the trip.All the fixings and then some were to be had.That evening, Patrick made Jon watch sappy Christmas movies on the Hallmark Channel.

They got a tree when they got back to Chicago, a small live tree that Jon said they could plant in their backyard after Christmas.They decorated the house and hosted a team party when they got a two day break the week before Christmas.

Their three-day holiday break was spent in Winnipeg with Jon’s family.New Year’s Eve was spent on the ice as the Hawks beat the Blues in the last game of the year.They went out with a few of the guys to ring in the New Year.

Through all of it, there are still no sightings of William Anderson.He hasn’t tried to contact Patrick in any way, either.No letters.No phone calls.No texts.Nothing.

It is in mid-January when Patrick finally gets a phone call.While it is not from William Anderson, it does change Patrick’s life.

“He’s been found, Patrick.”the Crown’s prosecutor from London, Ontario, stated.Flat.Cold.Emotionless.“He’s dead.”

“Wha... what?”Patrick stuttered, his face going ashen.

“Patrick,” Jon rushed across the kitchen, worried when Patrick dropped down to the floor, his knees giving out.Patrick was shaking when Jon got to him.“What happened?”

“What... when...” Patrick looked at Jon, who sat down on the floor next to him.“Wait.Here...”He shoved the phone at Jon and buried his head in his hands, tears welling up in his eyes.

“Hello?”Jon said hesitantly.

“Jon?It’s Diana Montgomery.I was telling Patrick, Anderson’s dead.”

“What?How?When?”

“The fugitive task force got a report he might be in Toronto.They tracked him to a house he’d evidently been renting.When they tried to apprehend him, he fled from them and barricaded himself in a shed behind the house.They tried to talk him out, but well, he set the shed on fire and then shot himself.”

“You’re kidding, right?He’s really dead?You’re sure?”Jon asked.He like Patrick was in shock from the news.

“He was seen going into the building, and they found the remains in the charred rubble.The body was burned, and well, the gunshot wound destroyed any dental records.But it had to be him.He was the only person who went in, and they never saw anyone come back out.We’re closing his case file.”

A short time later, Patrick sat on the couch. He felt… numb.No.Not even numb.He felt nothing.Jon had brought him a glass of water and he sipped at it.Jon sat next to him talking to his mother on the phone.Patrick listened as Jon told her the details as they’d been given them.

He heard the words again.William Anderson is dead.

Patrick doesn’t know how long he’d sat on the floor, crying as Jon held him.A million thoughts running through his head.Memories.Not all of them bad, but most of them.He can’t believe it is over.His life can return to normal.No more worries.No more body guards.

They’d made several phone calls after they got the news.Sharpy is reserved with his comments.Seabs ecstatic.Stan and Q offer Patrick support, as always.Anything the boys need.The security company gets official notification and the body guards say good bye and check out.

Patrick stands and looks out the window, watching them leave.For the first time in months, it is just him and Jon.Jon steps up behind him and wraps his arm around Patrick’s waist, pulling him back tight to his body.

“Okay?”

“I guess.”Patrick sighs, relaxing in Jon’s arms.“I don’t know how I’m supposed to feel.Happy?Relieved?”

“Sad?”

“Maybe.”

Jon knew that a lot of the time Patrick spent in therapy centered on the mixed feelings he had for both his parents and Anderson, who at one time had been like a father to him.Love.Hate.Betrayal.Loss.All the feeling mixed together.It was one thing to be able to deal with it by thinking of Anderson rotting in jail.Jon wondered how Patrick would deal with this.

“I’m gonna kinda miss having the goon squad around.”He joked.

“Yeah.”Patrick replied.

Jon tipped his head down, brushing his lips against Patrick’s temple.“Hey, it’s okay to be sad.”

Patrick turned around in Jon’s arms, letting his own arms slide around Jon.Patrick pulled Jon close and buried his face against Jon’s shoulder.

Jon holds Patrick tight as the quiet sobs rack his body all over again.


	7. Taken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick gave Jon a kiss before he left and said he’d be back soon. Jon said he’d probably do some yoga while Patrick was gone. Patrick backed Jon’s car out of the driveway and drove away. He didn’t notice the dark colored vehicle parked across the street or the driver sitting in it.

He laid low for a couple of days. Let the excitement and media coverage play out. Then in the dark of night, he slipped out of the hidden bunker, climbed through the charred rubble, and disappeared.

A week later, a dark colored SUV registered to Kenneth Gregory of Buffalo, New York, pulled up to the border crossing at the Peace Bridge. As he anticipated, the crossing is exceptionally busy on a Sunday afternoon. It’s also a bitter cold February day in Buffalo, the wind whipping across the lake and bridge. He sits patiently in line and waits for his turn, his passport and ID laying on the seat next to him at the ready.

“Good afternoon, Sir.” The nice-looking border guard says when he pulls up to the gate. “How was your trip?”

He handed the young man his paperwork and smiled at him. “Good. Always nice to be coming home, though.”

“What took you to Canada?”

“Business. I own some property up around the falls and I go up to check on it every now and then.”

“Anything to declare?”

“Nope. Just me.”

The guard studied the picture and the driver of the SUV. It’s a very close resemblance. 

It had taken time to put this all together. To find someone who fit his description. To develop a relationship. To find a property. To construct his hiding place. Then to put everything in motion at just the right time. So far, everything had fallen into place just as he planned. Crossing the border was the next step.  
He’d dyed his hair black. Gotten colored contact lenses. Glasses added a distraction from the physical features. He’d added the beard over the last couple of weeks. If you didn’t know him, he could easily be Kenneth Gregory. The border guard continued to study the ID. He had to think of something to say.

“It’s the beard. Makes me look older, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, I think it does.” The guard pondered the ID for another minute then handed him back his passport. “Please drive carefully, the bridge is probably icy in spots today.”

“Gotta love winter in Buffalo.”

“Yes, Sir. Thank you and have a nice day.”

And with that, he pulled away from the guard booth and drove back into the United States. He made his way through Buffalo, got on Interstate 90, and headed west.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------  
The first time he sees Patrick, the young man is trailing behind Jon as they enter the Blackhawks’ practice facility. He had to wait around several days before the Hawks got back to Chicago and had a practice. It was the easiest place to find Patrick. He stood in the back of a group of fans and watched the players arrive.   
He’s sure that Patrick looked right at him and smiled on the way in, but Toews was saying something and Patrick couldn’t get away. After practice, he waited patiently outside with the others. A few of the players stopped and signed autographs. He waited until he saw Jon and Patrick getting into their car to leave and he slipped away.

They didn’t notice the SUV that pulled out behind them. Didn’t notice that it stayed a discreet distance back. Didn’t notice when it pulled up and parked just down the block from their house.

He sat and watched them park in the driveway, get out, and go in the house. He sat and watched the house for a several minutes, pretending to talk on his cellphone in case he drew attention to himself. If stopped, he could say he had just pulled over because he had service and didn’t want to talk and text while driving. Eventually he pulls away. He’s been patient this long, he just needs to be patient for a little longer.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------  
Patrick’s been looking forward to having a day off at home with Jon. They’ve been on the road a lot the past month it seems, so they haven’t had a chance to enjoy not have the body guards around. But today, they’ve got a day all to themselves. 

They spent the morning in bed, cuddling and talking, and just being lazy. Once they’d finally gotten up, Jon had fixed them something to eat and they played video games for a while. By early afternoon, they were talking about what to do for dinner. They decided on making tacos, but needed several items. Patrick volunteered to run to the grocery store.

Patrick gave Jon a kiss before he left and said he’d be back soon. Jon said he’d probably do some yoga while Patrick was gone. Patrick backed Jon’s car out of the driveway and drove away. He didn’t notice the dark colored vehicle parked across the street or the driver sitting in it.

Patrick decided to run a few extra errands as long as he was out, so it was about an hour and a half before he got back home. He grabbed the bags out of the back seat and let himself in the front door. He hollered for Jon to come help, but got no answer.

When he stepped into the kitchen, he stopped dead in his tracks, the bags falling from his hands and crashing to the floor. Jon was face-down on the kitchen floor, and it looked like there was blood on his face. Patrick’s eyes widened with fear as he stepped forward to go to Jon. Too late he realized that Jon hadn’t just fallen and hit his head. He felt the presence behind him before he saw the man.

An arm wrapped around his chest and pulled Patrick back. He brought his hands up, trying to claw at the man. He called out to Jon who didn’t move. He screamed ‘no’ over and over as the man’s other hand came up to his face. The cloth shoved over his mouth and nose smelled of chemicals. Patrick tried not to breath, but it was a futile move. His head got light. He felt dizzy and the room started to spin. The last thing he saw before everything went dark was Jon’s bloody face.

The first thing Patrick became aware of was the smell that assaulted his nostrils. Rotting food. The next thing was the motion and sound of a car engine. He tried to open his eyes, but something covered them. Tape. His mouth was taped shut as well. 

He tried to move.

He was on his right side, arms tied behind his back, secured at the elbows and wrists. He flexed his hands which felt tingly, tried to force blood back into them. His legs were tied together at the knees and ankles. Patrick tried not to panic, tried to breathe evenly through his nose. The smell and the lingering effects of whatever had knocked him out made him gag. He coughed and choked, the sound muffled by the tape. He felt the vehicle slow down and bump a few times until it came to a stop. He heard doors open then felt hands on him. He tried to squirm away.

“Patty. Patty. Shhh… it’s okay.”

Patrick froze at the sound of that familiar voice. Bile rose in his throat again. The tape was ripped violently away from his mouth just as he turned his head and threw up.

“Ah, baby. I’m sorry.” A hand brushed his hair back, stayed there until Patrick seemed to be done throwing up. “It’ll be better if you just sleep.”

The cloth that smelled covered his face again and everything went dark.


	8. Captive

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts to get darker as Patrick's coach holds him captive. 
> 
> TW: Rape/Non-consensual Sex and a brief Suicidal Thought.. and... talk about the death of a character

“Patty? Here, drink this.”

Patrick felt a hand slip behind his head and tip it forward. He was still blindfolded, but he didn’t think he was in the car anymore. His arms were stretched above his head, still tied at the wrist, but now when he tugged gently, he thought he was tied to something solid. 

His legs were pulled out straight, tied at the ankles to something else solid. At least he still had his clothes on. He tried to make his brain work, but everything was foggy. The foul smell was gone and there was no engine noise or motion. 

He felt the mouth of a bottle on his lips and a cool liquid touch them. He parted his lips and took a small sip. Strawberry Gatorade. He took a bigger sip. His mouth was dry and his throat hurt a little. He took several sips.

“That’s my good boy.”

He froze for a split-second before pushing back against the hand and away from the bottle. 

“No!” Patrick cried. “No! Let me go!”

He struggled against the ropes, trying to twist his body.

“Ssshhh… Patty, it’s okay. You’re with me now. You’re safe.”

“Fuck you! Let me go!” Patrick yelled at the unseen figure. 

“Patty you need to calm down. Stop fighting.” Anderson said. “I don’t want to have to knock you out again.”

Patrick kept twisting, pulling at the ropes around his wrists and ankles. The more he fought, though, the tighter the knots got. He stopped struggling when they got too tight.  
“See. It’s not going to do you any good to fight. You’ll just hurt yourself.”

“Let me go. Please.” Patrick said, panic edging his voice. “Please.”

He felt whatever he was laying on spring up when his captor got up. A bed. He must be on a bed, he thought. That meant they were inside somewhere.

“Why… why are you doing this?” Patrick asked.

“Because I love you. I had to save you from him.” 

Patrick felt lips brush against his forehead and he tried to turn away from the kiss. He felt sick to his stomach again. The image of Jon on the kitchen floor, blood on his face, filled Patrick’s mind.

“Jonny. What did you do to Jonny.”

“Toews. Oh, Patty. He wasn’t right for you. He was just keeping us apart.”

“No! Jonny loves me. And I love him. What did you do?”

“He won’t be able to hurt you again, baby. I promise.” 

Patrick’s heart ached, dread spreading through his whole body. 

“Toews won’t ever come between us again, Patty. I made sure of it. I took care of him.”

“No!”

“He’s dead, Patty. It was for the best. I did it for you. So we can be together.”

Tears came to Patrick’s eyes. His breath hitched. Jon. His Jonny. Anderson had killed him.  
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Patrick cried and struggled against his restraints until he was exhausted and fell asleep. When he came to again, the room was quiet. He couldn’t hear Anderson moving around at all. He said his name, waiting for a response but none came. Either he was sleeping or he had gone somewhere and left Patrick alone.

The ropes had been loosened again, just enough so that they were no longer digging into Patrick’s wrist and ankles as they had been. Patrick rubbed his head on the pillow, trying to rub the blindfold off, but it was too well secured. He laid there for an indeterminable about of time, softly crying on and off as he thought about Jon.

Someone had to have found Jon by now, a teammate or someone. They had to know that Patrick had been taken. But, then again, they all thought Anderson was dead. Maybe they thought Patrick had gone psycho and killed Jon instead of what happened. Either way, they had to be looking for him.

He wondered where Anderson had taken him. Was his in a house somewhere? Was he in a hotel room? If he was, maybe someone would hear him. Patrick began yelling for help as loud as he could. He yelled for what he thought was a long time, but no one came. The room stayed silent.

Patrick drifted in and out of consciousness. At some point, he became aware that Anderson was back. He heard him moving around the room. Patrick could smell food cooking. He was hungry, but the thought of eating made him queasy. He felt the bile rise in his throat and swallowed hard to fight it back down.

“Are you thirsty, Patty?” Anderson said, sitting down on the bed next to Patrick. “Here, drink some more.”

Patrick turned his head away. “No. Get away from me.”

“Patty. You have to drink something. I’m making your favorite for dinner. Mac and cheese with hot dogs”

“Fuck off.” Patrick growled. “I hate that. I hate you.”

Anderson stood up again, once more bending to kiss Patrick’s forehead before walking away.

“You’re just saying that. Silly boy.”

Patrick listened as Anderson walked away. He listened to the sounds of him dishing up a plate of food. A few minutes later, he felt the mattress dip as Anderson returned. He kept his head turned away.

Anderson brought a fork full of food to Patrick’s mouth. “Come on, Patty. You need to eat.”

Patrick kept his mouth shut, his lips pressed tightly together.

“No? Are you sure?” He heard Anderson set the plate down. “Okay.”

Patrick felt the hand slip under his shirt and up his chest. He tried to turn his body away from the touch but couldn’t.

“Stop.” He pleaded. “Don’t touch me.”

“Patty, baby. I’ve missed you so much.” Anderson leaned over him. Patrick could feel hot breath on his cheek just before he felt the press of lips against his skin.

“Don’t.” He tried to move away, pushing his head down into the pillow underneath him. “Please. Just let me go.”

He felt Anderson get up. A minute later, he returned. This time he climbed over Patrick and straddled his legs. A piece of tape was pressed over Patrick’s mouth. Patrick tried to buck up and get Anderson off, but the older man had him by several inches and more than a few pounds. 

Patrick felt the hands on his shirt, then heard the sound of scissors. The cold blade slid along his chest as Anderson cut the material away. Once he had it cut, Anderson pulled the shirt open, tossed the scissors aside and began running his hands up and down Patrick’s bare chest.

“My beautiful Patty. Look at how lovely you are. You’ve gotten so much bigger.” Anderson bent forward and licked at a nipple. Patrick tried to stay still now. Tried not to think about what was happening, what he knew Anderson was going to do to him.

Anderson’s hands ran up and down his chest and sides, making his skin shiver with each touch. When they stopped at the waistband of his jeans, Patrick’s breath caught. He breathed rapidly through his nose, trying desperately to fight down the fear rising inside. He fought back the urged to throw up, with the tape over his mouth he'd end up choking on his own vomit. A brief thought flashed through his head that if Jon was dead, then maybe he should just... no, he had to fight.

Patrick tried to make his mind focus on anything other than what was happening. Anderson undid the snap on Patrick’s jeans, then pulled down the zipper. He reached inside the material and cupped Patrick’s cock. Patrick tried to pull his hips back away from the touch. Anderson pulled his hand out, grabbed the top of Patrick’s jeans and boxer and pulled them down, forcing them down to Patrick’s thighs.

Patrick tried to scream against the tape, yelled in his mind for Anderson to stop. He squeezed his eyes shut underneath the blindfold when he felt Anderson’s mouth on his cock. It didn’t take long for him to get hard, no matter what he thought or tried to do to stop his body from reacting. He whimpered and sobbed as Anderson sucked and stroked him until he came.

Patrick felt the large man climb off him and guessed he was kneeling at his side. He heard him grunt a few times then felt the warm liquid on his chest as Anderson shot his come onto him. Patrick almost lost his battle not to throw up at that point. Unceremoniously, the tape was ripped off his mouth.

Patrick didn’t move. He just stayed still, quietly crying as Anderson got up and walked away.

“Jonny.” He whispered. “Why.”


	9. Take What Is Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The room was dark. Night. He’d been out for several hours evidently. Long enough for Anderson to move him. He was naked still. There was something under his hips, raising the middle part of his body up off the bed. A pillow.
> 
> No!
> 
> Oh, no!
> 
> Oh, fucking no!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning... this chapter contains a rape scene, not overly graphic, but somewhat detailed. Skip if you need to...
> 
> Anderson is obviously deeply troubled and living in his own world... he takes pleasure from this because he is not 'raping' Patrick, but is making love to him....

Being blindfolded, Patrick quickly lost track of time. He didn’t know how many days he’d been tied up at his former coach’s mercy. He’d tried to resist him, to fight him, as much as he could. It was a losing battle. He tried not to eat, but eventually Anderson had forced food into his mouth and held it shut until Patrick chewed and swallowed. The first several times, Patrick threw it all back up. After what was most likely two or three days, the food started staying down.

Anderson always took great care in cleaning up after Patrick got sick. After the first time he assaulted Patrick, he put an adult diaper on him. He changed it and cleaned Patrick as needed. That brought shame and embarrassment to Patrick, but as he laid there while Anderson washed him, Patrick knew that was the least of his worries. 

Since that first time, Anderson had assaulted Patrick eight other times. Twice he’d made Patrick suck his cock, forcing him to swallow his come. So far, he had yet to actually fuck Patrick. That was Patrick’s real worry, the thought of it making him sick. 

That would be the only way Anderson could hurt Patrick. Patrick feared that kind of physical assault. He really didn’t think Anderson would physically harm him in any other ways, not beat him or kill him. At least not as long as he didn’t feel threatened by Patrick or anyone else.

After what must have been a week, if Patrick had to guess, Anderson took off the blindfold. The bright light of the room hurt Patrick’s eyes, making him blink numerous times as his eyes watered before everything came back into focus.

Patrick took in his surroundings. A small room, two windows on the far side, pulled-down blinds keeping the sunlight out. He was tied down on a bed, he’d been right about that. The dingy, flowery wallpaper was peeling off the wall in places. He tipped his head and could sort of make out dark flooring. The door was pulled shut. William Anderson was standing next to the bed, smiling down at Patrick.

“There. That’s better, isn’t it, Patty.” He brushed his fingers along Patrick’s cheek. Patrick glared at him, his eyes filled with hate. “Oh, now don’t be like that, Patty. You need to be smiling and happy now that we’re together. You have such pretty, blue eyes, baby.”

“Fuck you!” Patrick spat at him, then turned his face away.

Anderson didn’t say anything, he just walked towards the door.

“Oh. By the way, they’re having a memorial for Toews in Chicago today,” Anderson said casually over his shoulder. “I don’t know why anyone would miss him. He was so bad to you, Patty. If people only knew.”

Patrick’s heart sank. He’d been trying not to think about the possibility that Jonny really was dead. More tears welled up in his eyes. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a nightmare and he’d wake up at any moment; he kept telling himself that over and over. Soon, Jonny would gently shake his shoulder and call his name. He’d sit up and wrap himself around Jonny, burying his face against Jonny’s chest. Jon would hold him tight and rub his back, would chase away all the bad.

But, that will never happen, can never happen. Jon is dead. 

Patrick’s lost track of how many times he’s cried himself to sleep.   
\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
The day after Anderson took the blindfold off, he stopped putting the diapers on Patrick. Instead, he carefully untied Patrick and took him out of the room and down the hall to use the bathroom. He also had Patrick stand in the shower while he washed him. 

He was careful to keep a set of shackles on Patrick’s ankles when he’d get Patrick up. And Patrick always had handcuffs on as well. They were attached to a leather dog leash, keeping Patrick tethered to Anderson the whole time.

They settled into a routine over the next few days. Anderson forcing Patrick to have oral sex several times a day. Patrick tried not to think about what was happening when it happened. He closed his eyes tight and thought about his friends. Sharpy. Duncs. Seabs. Crow. Jason and Mikey and the all the people at Patrick’s place. He imagined them busting into the room to rescue him. 

He could picture them, especially Sharpy, jumping on Anderson. He could picture them beating him. Pounding on him viciously until he stopped moving. Patrick wanted them to kill the man. Kill him for what he did to Jon.

Then his thoughts would turn to Jon. 

As hard as Patrick tried to only think about happy times with Jon, the image of his bloody face always came back. Jon, lying on the kitchen floor, dead.

Patrick squeezed his eyes shut even tighter, the tears starting to roll down his cheeks. He kept his jaw clenched shut as well as he came. He expected Anderson to climb up the bed now and either force Patrick to blow him, or simply jerk off on Patrick’s face. He didn’t expect the cloth and hand that covered his mouth and nose. His eyes shot open as he smelled the chemical smell again. 

Anderson was kneeling, looking down at him. “It’ll be okay, Patty. I just need for you to sleep for a little while.”

Patrick’s eyelids fluttered as he fought the drug. The last thing he saw was Anderson’s leering smile.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
Patrick didn’t know how long he was knocked out. As his mind started working again, he laid there taking stock of his situation.

He was on his stomach now. His arms and legs tied spread eagle. He listened, but couldn’t hear Anderson, or anything for that matter. Cautiously, he opened his eyes. 

The room was dark. Night. He’d been out for several hours evidently. Long enough for Anderson to move him. He was naked still. There was something under his hips, raising the middle part of his body up off the bed. A pillow.

No!

Oh, no!

Oh, fucking no!

He tried to squirm, tugging on the restraints around his wrists and ankles. As before, they just tightened as he pulled, so he quickly stopped moving. He laid there in the dark, thinking about what he knew Anderson was going to do, fear spreading from the pit of his stomach.

It wasn’t long before he heard the bedroom door open and the heavy footsteps as Anderson walked across the room. The mattress dipped with Anderson’s weight as the big man settled on his knees next to Patrick’s side. Patrick felt the man’s big, burly hands on his skin and he flinched away.

“Oh, Patty,” Anderson cooed, “you’re so beautiful. Look at how perfect your body is.”

He ran his hands up and down Patrick’s back, out the length of his arms, across the swell of Patrick’s ass. Fingertips grazing over his warm skin. Instead of loving tingles, his touch sent could shivers through Patrick.

“I’ve waited so long to be able to have you like this again.” Anderson bent down and trailed kisses along Patrick’s shoulder, stopping to nuzzle his neck. “I love you so much. He could never love you, not like this. Couldn’t give you the pleasure I can give you.”

Patrick clenched his teeth, tried not to cry out. If he just stayed still, stayed quiet. He tried to think about his friends. About Jon. He tried to make his mind be anywhere but in this room at this moment.

Anderson kissed Patrick’s cheek, whispered words of love and affection in Patrick’s ear. Patrick tried to turn his face away, but a strong hand clamped down on the back of his head and held him still.

“I’m gonna make this so good for you, Patty. I just want to show you how much I love you.” He stroked his other hand up and down Patrick’s back.

When the hand rubbed over his ass, Patrick tried to pull his hips down, away from the touch. When the hand slipped between the cheeks and a finger grazed over his opening, he tried harder. Anderson kissed his way down Patrick’s back before shifting to kneel between Patrick’s legs.

Patrick heard the snap of the bottle cap and the squish of lube being squirted out. Patrick felt the cold, wet, slimy finger touch him, the tip circling the tight rim. When the finger pushed in, Patrick clenched around it involuntarily.

“So beautiful, Patty. So tight for me. God I just want to be inside you.”

Patrick felt the bile rise in his throat and he fought it back down. Just get through this, he thought. Just get through this.

Anderson worked the finger in and out slowly, carefully working Patrick open. He worked a second finger in, squirting some more lube over them so they glided in and out smoothly, burying them to the knuckle each time. All the while, he kept telling Patrick how much he loved him. How much only he could love Patrick this way. How Toews could never give Patrick, his Patty, what he was giving him.

Each word was like a knife to Patrick’s heart. He insides twisting in knots with pain.

Patrick buried his face into the pillow and cried silent, his sobs shaking his body.

“Look at you, your whole body quivering with pleasure for me. That’s it, Patty. Just let me make it feel so good for you.” 

Patrick felt the fingers withdraw and Anderson’s hands spread his ass cheeks apart, exposing him completely. He felt Anderson’s cock against his opening. He held his breath, waiting, his whole body tensing even though he knew that would just make it worse.

The head pushed in and Patrick’s breath rushed from his lungs. He was so tense, the muscles clenching down tight. Pain spread through him at first. Patrick tried to think about anything other than what was happening. Tried to force his body to relax. But he couldn’t.

Anderson took him. Slow and steady at first. Words of affection still coming from him. Then it became fast and hard as he neared his release. Pounding into Patrick until he finally shot his cum deep inside Patrick. 

When he was done, he pulled out and collapsed forward, draping his body over Patrick. 

“I love you, Patty.” Anderson whispered. “My Patty. All mine.”


	10. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He had been being kept at a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. There was not a house or road to be seen, just a long winding driveway that looked like it went for miles.  
> Patrick shoved his hands into the front pocket of the hoodie, put his head down, and started walking. The driveway had to lead somewhere. And somewhere meant Patrick was free.  
> But to what kind of world was Patrick going to return to? Jon was dead. His life would never be the same. He thought about all that meant. About all he’d endured. Patrick wasn’t sure he wanted to be found. He wasn’t sure he could go on without Jon.

Anderson came with a grunt. He leaned down and kissed Patrick’s neck, climbed off him and left the room.

At first, Patrick had fought.

At first, he had screamed. At least in his own mind.

Screamed for Anderson to stop. Screamed for someone to come save him.

Daylight faded to night.

Night gave way to day.

Day after day.

Night after night.

Patrick stopped trying to figure out how long he’d been held captive by Anderson. It all just became a blur of abuse at the hands of his former coach.  
He had given up trying to fight. He just laid there and let Anderson do what he wanted. He didn’t try to pull away when Anderson took him to the bathroom. He let the man touch him, fondle him, suck on him. He obediently got on his knees and pleasured the man.

Day after day.

And eventually, the restraints lessened.

First it was his legs, left untied overnight so Patrick could be a little more comfortable. Then, Anderson didn’t put the ankle shackles on him when he took him to the bathroom.  
The next step brought some added range to Patrick’s surroundings when Anderson started taking Patrick downstairs to a living room area for his meals. He always kept one arm in a restraint, always attached to the leather leash. But otherwise, Patrick wasn’t tied when he ate.

Eventually, even that restraint was taken away.

Patrick wasn’t given free range of the house, though. He was locked in the bedroom unless Anderson was with him. He’d tried to open the windows, but they were nailed shut. Anderson hadn’t given him any clothes to wear, yet, either.

Patrick spent his time pacing around his room. Working out as best he could. Trying to keep his strength up.

Whenever he was with Anderson, he acted sullen. Always submissive and obedient. He did as he was ordered. He answered only when spoken to. He became whatever Anderson wanted him to be.

All the while, thinking about how to escape.  
\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Did you like your dinner tonight, Patty?”

“Yes, Coach Bill. May I go to the bathroom, please?” Patrick asked, standing up.

“Of course, Patty.”

Anderson was halfway to his feet when Patrick sprang. He charged at the man and hit him with as much force as he could muster. The attack caught Anderson completely off-guard. The force of the hit drove him back into the chair. Patrick swung his fists at Anderson’s head, hard and fast, trying to get in as many blows as he could before Anderson could react. He landed several hard blows to Anderson’s jaw, which further stunned him.

“Fuck you! Fuck you!” Patrick yelled, channeling all the anger he held towards this man into his attack.

Anderson managed to get his hands up and he shoved against Patrick’s chest, pushing him back. All in one motion, he came up out of the chair and grabbed Patrick around the waist, driving them both to the floor. The impact and Anderson’s weight knocked the wind out of Patrick, making his head spin. He fought to stay aware of what was happening. Anderson was straddling his legs. His arms pinning Patrick’s shoulders to the floor.

Patrick’s legs weren’t tied down any more. He brought his knee up, hard into Anderson’s groin. The man groaned and slumped forward. Patrick squirmed. He kept kicking, pushing with his legs until he was out from under Anderson. He scrambled to his feet and ran from the room. He heard Anderson struggling to his feet behind him.

“Patty, stop!” Anderson yelled. “What are you doing. There’s nowhere for you to run.”

Patrick hesitated, unsure of what direction to run. He ran down the hallway next to the stairs, which led him to the kitchen. Frantically, he looked for something to use as a weapon. He could hear Anderson coming. He started pulling drawers open, looking for a knife.

“Patty, I don’t understand. I love you. You love me. What brought this on.” Patrick turned. Anderson stood in the doorway.

“You fucking killed, Jon!” Patrick spat at him. His eyes darted around the room. There were dishes in the sink. Patrick rushed over and began to throw them at Anderson, who easily ducked out of the way.

Anderson took a step towards Patrick, then another, swatting at the dishes aimed for his head. He covered the ground between them in three quick, long strides. Patrick didn’t have time to react before the large hand caught him across the side of his face. The backhand stunned Patrick, who slumped over. He tried to brace his hands on the counter, waiting for the next blow.

Anderson grabbed the back of Patrick’s neck and held him down with one hand. The second hand came down hard against Patrick’s ass.

“I’m going to have to punish this behavior, Patty. When I’m done, I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to tie you up again until you can learn to behave.” He struck Patrick’s ass repeatedly.

Patrick clenched his eyes shut, still reeling from the backhand to his face. The pain from the beating starting to push him further down. He had to keep fighting. This might be his only chance. Patrick forced his eyes open. His head was hanging over the sink.

That’s when he saw it. Metal. In the bottom of the sink. He reached down and grasped the handle. He knew he might only get one swing, he had to make it count.

With all the strength he had left, Patrick pushed up against Anderson’s hold. He twisted his body and brought his right arm around, knife in hand. He buried the blade to the hilt in one swift motion, deep into Anderson’s side.

Patrick looked up into the man’s face. Saw the shock of Patrick’s attack register in his eyes. Patrick pulled the blade out, then jammed it in again and again.

“That’s for Jonny.” Patrick said.

He stabbed him again.

“That’s for me.” Patrick said. “You sick fucking bastard. You aren’t going to hurt me again.”

Anderson staggered backwards, a hand going to his side. His other hand clamped on Patrick’s arm, pulling him with him as he fell backwards. Patrick let himself be dragged down. When they hit the floor, he changed his point of attack and began stabbing Anderson in the chest. He worked his other arm free and clutched the handle of the knife with both hands, using all his might to plunge it into Anderson over and over.

Patrick stopped, the knife sticking out of Anderson. He sat back on the man’s legs, which he’d been straddling.

Anderson wasn’t moving. His eyes, dark and cold. Lifeless.

Patrick was breathing heavily. His arms felt heavy. His chest hurt. His head was spinning. He scrambled off Anderson and scooted across the kitchen floor. He pushed his back against some cabinets, bring his knees up to his chest. Patrick wrapped his arms around his knees.

He doesn’t know how long he sat there like that, shaking. Staring at the body of his coach.  
\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Patrick became aware of his surroundings again, the sun was coming through the window of a door on the other side of the kitchen. Patrick could hear a rooster crowing, the only sound beside Anderson’s voice he’d ever heard during his captivity. He crawled slowly over to Anderson. He didn’t want to touch him. He wanted to just get up and run away.

Patrick's hands, arms and chest were covered in dried blood.  There was blood everywhere. Patrick tried not to look at it as he checked the pockets of the man’s jeans, looking for car keys, or house keys. Something. He found nothing.

He got up and wandered upstairs. He climbed in the shower and washed the blood away.  He stood for a long time under the hot spray, trying to comprehend what had happened, what he had done.  He kept waiting to hear Anderson's footsteps on the stairs.  He kept expecting him to come barging into the shower.

He found the room that was where Anderson evidently slept. On the floor near a dresser were several bags of new clothes, the tags still attached. They were all Patrick’s size. Evidently Anderson had been going to let him have clothes again soon.

Patrick picked out a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Then he grabbed a hoodie as well. He found the shoes he’d been wearing when Anderson grabbed him next to the bags. He dressed quickly. He searched the room, still looking for keys, but also for a phone. He found a wallet with a fake ID and several credit cards. He also found an envelope with a large sum of money in it. Several hundred dollars, Patrick figured. Mostly all twenties and tens. He didn’t take any of it.

Patrick made his way back downstairs, exploring rooms as he went. He couldn’t find keys or a phone. Finally, he gave up trying to find anything. He walked through the kitchen, gave Anderson’s body one final glance, and walked out of the farmhouse.

There was an SUV parked near the house. Patrick was relieved when the door was unlocked, then disappointed when the keys weren’t inside. He looked everywhere, but couldn’t find them. He tried to hot-wire the vehicle, but couldn’t, so he finally gave up.

He had been being kept at a farmhouse in the middle of nowhere. There was not a house or road to be seen, just a long winding driveway that looked like it went for miles.  
Patrick shoved his hands into the front pocket of the hoodie, put his head down, and started walking. The driveway had to lead somewhere. And somewhere meant Patrick was free.

But to what kind of world was Patrick going to return to? Jon was dead. His life would never be the same. He thought about all that meant. About all he’d endured. He wasn’t sure he could go on without Jon.  His mind was a jumble of thoughts, nothing made sense to him.  Anderson was dead, and yet, Patrick feared that he would appear at any moment to stop him from leaving.  What would people think.  What if they thought he killed Jon.  What if they thought he had gone willingly with Anderson and then had just turned on him.  What if... what if... what if...

Patrick brought his hands to his head and screamed.  This time it was loud and forceful.  The sound of his own voice, the pain and rage in it, startled him.  For so long, he had kept everything inside.  He dropped his hands and looked around.  No one was coming. 

Patrick was all alone.  Truly alone.  No family.  No Jon.  He wasn't sure he could go on without Jon.  A thought flashed through Patrick's mind.  He wasn't sure that he wanted to be found.  Maybe, just maybe, he should slip away.  Disappear.  

Patrick turned and ran to the house to retrieve the envelope of money.  When he came out, he shoved his hands and the envelope in the front pocket of the hoodie and started down the driveway. 

Without Jon, he had nothing to go back to, so he wouldn't go back.  To the world, Patrick Kane would be dead.  His disappearance just another unsolved mystery.  


	11. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next night, when Patrick found a shed on another farm to hide out in for the night, he studied the map. And he thought about his next move. To him, it sounded like a good plan.
> 
> But, he didn’t know if it would work. He didn’t know if the man was even still alive. Or, if he was still driving truck. But Patrick had decided that maybe he was the one person Patrick could trust. Someone Bill Anderson didn’t know about, couldn’t have gotten to. Someone who wouldn’t judge Patrick. Someone who wouldn’t turn him in. He hadn’t before, right? Why would he now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay... so yes... this includes that piece of information everyone has wanted and has been sure was going to happen....
> 
> as noted on other works... I'm a sucker for happy endings... and so this will lead to that....
> 
> and... I brought back a character... because I liked him and he didn't get enough time in the first part of this series...
> 
> as always, kudos and comments make my day... or come find me on Tumblr under PensToTheEnd there too...

Patrick walked for what seemed like a million miles before he came to a paved road and any sign of civilization.  Anderson really hadn’t wanted anyone to be able to find them.  He pulled the hood of the sweatshirt up when he heard a car approaching, tipping his head down as it drove past.  Patrick flipped a coin in his head.  Heads, left.  Tails, right.  He turned right and kept walking. 

He walked off the roadway when he could, walking through field after field of endless crops.  He thought about sticking his thumb up and hitching a ride, but he couldn’t risk someone recognizing him.  Not just yet.  So, he kept walking.

The scenery never changed, just flat farmland for miles on end.  As it started getting dark, Patrick worried about finding a place to sleep.  There wasn’t much about the countryside that lent itself to any kind of shelter.  He had hoped to maybe come across another farm with a barn or out-building he could hide out in.  But he didn’t see anything.  So, he kept walking.

He was hungry.  And cold.  And tired.

While he walked, he had time to think, time for rational thoughts to break through the wall of irrational thoughts and fears that had formed during his captivity.  He could go home.  He had friends who would help him.  Sharpy.  Sharpy would take care of him.

But then the irrational thoughts poured back in.  No.  No, they wouldn’t understand.  Wouldn’t want him if he wasn’t with Jonny.  That’s the only reason any of them liked him.  That’s what Coach Bill had told him.  Over and over again.  Coach Bill had told Patrick he was the only one who loved him, and now, he’d killed him.  Now he had no one.  Patrick shook the thoughts from his head.  He stopped and surveyed his surroundings.

The light in the distance caught his eye.  It wasn’t moving, not like car headlights.  It stayed a steady beacon in the dark.  Patrick walked towards it, relief flooding through him as the large farmhouse came in to view.  Patrick made his way to the barn and cautiously made his way inside.  He found some hay bales that he could curl up on.  He climbed into the hay loft, worked his way back behind a few bales and laid down.  He was out almost before his head hit the bale.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Patrick opened his eyes, looking around.  He was back in the farmhouse, tied to the bed.  He tried to pull free, but couldn’t.  He heard the door open.  Anderson stood in the doorway, leering at him.  He was covered in blood._

_“I told you, Patty.  I told you you’ll never be able to leave me.”  Anderson laughed._

_“No!” Patrick screamed._

Patrick woke with a jolt, sitting up.  He wasn’t sure if he had screamed out loud or only in his dream.  He wasn’t even sure he wasn’t still dreaming, if maybe he had dreamed the whole escape from Anderson. 

The sun was filtering throw slats in the walls of the barn.  Patrick could hear someone rustling around below him.  He must not have screamed out loud or that person would certainly be looking for him now.  Patrick ducked back down behind the bales, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up over his head.  He closed his eyes and listened to the noises of the person working.  It would be safer to wait and move at night, he decided.  Less chances of being seen that way.  He let himself drift off to sleep again.

It was dark out when Patrick woke up.  The exhaustion and shock finally wearing off some.  At least he felt rested.  His stomach rumbled.  He needed food.

Cautiously, he climbed down out of the loft and made his way outside.  The farmhouse was dark.  He looked around.  No cars.  No garage.  Maybe nobody was home.  He made his way to the house.  The door was unlocked so he quietly slipped inside.

He found his way to the kitchen and raided the refrigerator.  Milk.  Some cold cuts.  Leftover casserole of some kind.  He really didn’t care what it was, he just ate.  The moonlight filtering in through the windows gave him enough light to be able to scrounge around the kitchen.  He opened a few drawers, took a knife.  He might need it for protection at some point.  Found a flashlight and took it, too. 

There was a drawer with some old phone books and maps.  He found a map of Nebraska in the drawer and wondered if that’s where he was.  When he looked around, there was a pile of mail on the countertop.  He shined the flashlight on it.  The address on one envelope read Dunning, Nebraska.  Well, that was a starting point.

Finally, he packed up some extra food in some plastic bags.  There was no telling when he’d find another place to raid.

Patrick found a note pad and pen.  _Thank you for the food and flashlight.  Hope this covers it._   He left the note and a couple of twenty-dollar bills on the table.  He slipped out the front door and headed out, weaving through rows of corn into an uncertain future.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next morning, when Patrick found a shed on another farm to hide out in for the day, he studied the map.  And he thought about his next move.  To him, it sounded like a good plan.

But, he didn’t know if it would work.  He didn’t know if the man was even still alive.  Or, if he was still driving truck.  But Patrick had decided that maybe he was the one person Patrick could trust.  Someone Bill Anderson didn’t know about, couldn’t have gotten to.  Someone who wouldn’t judge Patrick.  Someone who wouldn’t turn him in.  He hadn’t before, right?  Why would he now.

Patrick had followed a route that took 80 miles south, to a small town not far off Interstate 80, which ran the whole way across the country.  It took him five long days to cover that distance, only walking at night.  From those weeks he’d spent on the road with Goodie Williams, Patrick remembered that Goodie’s travels took him across I-80 a lot.  If he could get to one of the truck stops where he knew he’d been with Goodie, maybe he’d find him.  It was a long-shot, but Patrick couldn’t think of anything else to do.

He’d have to get braver at this point and take a risk that someone would recognize him.  He found a main road.  If a tractor-trailer approached, Patrick would stick out his thumb and hope the rig would stop.  He didn’t try to catch a ride with anyone in a car.  He needed someone who would be headed towards the interstate and that was most likely a trucker.

It took Patrick three different truckers to get to the truck stop outside of Lovelock, Nevada, where he’d stopped with Goodie at least twice during their time together.  He got something to eat, then just kind of hung out in the diner and around the trucks in the parking lot, curling up in a dark corner behind some dumpsters at night.  It was another week before he saw a familiar truck sitting in the lot when he got up one morning, T.M. Willliams Trucking written on the door of the cab.

A wave of fear swept over him, though.  What if Goodie didn’t remember him.  What if Goodie turned him in.  Again, his mind filled with all sorts of irrational thoughts. 

Patrick waited a little while and just watched the truck.  Goodie could be sleeping inside.  Eventually, Patrick got up and went to the diner.  He stepped in and looked around.  A familiar face sat at the counter sipping on coffee and eating eggs and toast.  Patrick hurried back outside.

He went to the truck and tried the door handle.  _You need to hide in the rig, not under it, boy._  The words  Goodie’s spoke when he’d first met Patrick echoed in Patrick’s head.  The door was unlocked, just as he knew it would be.  Patrick climbed up into the rig’s sleeping compartment which was separated from the cab be a curtain.  He tucked himself into a corner, curled up tightly, his knees to his chest. 

And there he waited.

A short time later, the door of the cab opened and he heard Goodie climb in.  There were some shuffling noises as he moved some items around in the cab.  Then he started the engine.

“Goodie?”  Patrick said, hesitantly. 

“What the hell?”  Goodie jumped at the sound of Patrick’s voice, reaching for the crowbar he kept between the seats.  “Who’s there.  Come on out here!”

Patrick scooted across the mattress and stuck his head out.  “It’s me.  Patrick.  Do you remember me?”

Goodie dropped the crowbar and grabbed the front of Patrick’s sweatshirt.  He pulled him into the front of the cab and into a massive bear hug, engulfing Patrick in his arms.

“Thank god.  Thank god almighty.  You’re alive.”  Goodie exclaimed.  He pushed Patrick away from him and started running his hands over Patrick’s chest and arms.  “Are you hurt?  Do you need to go to the hospital?  Good god, Patrick, the whole world been looking for you for months.  How did you get away from that man?”

Goodie’s words took Patrick by surprise.  _That man_.  How did he or anyone know Anderson had taken him. 

“I… I just did.  I got away.  I’m not hurt.  Really.  I need help… I thought… maybe… I didn’t know where to go or who to ask… I thought of you… could you…”  Patrick stuttered out, unsure of what to say or how to say it.

“I’m so glad you did, boy.  Oh my goodness.  We need to get you home.  People been worried sick about you.  The police.  They need to know where to look for that Anderson fella, the one what took you.  He needs to be caught.”  Goodie pulled Patrick into another bear hug, just holding him tight. 

Patrick felt both relief and fear as Goodie hugged him.  He was safe.  He knew that.  Finally safe.  But Goodie was talking about taking him home, going to the police.  That thought filled him with fear.

“I can’t… I can’t go home…”

“What?  What do you mean?”  Goodie pulled back.  “Come on, sit up in the other seat.”

He turned off the engine and gave Patrick his full attention.  “Tell me what’s going on.”

“I can’t go home.  I don’t have anything there to go back to.  And, I just… I can’t.”  Patrick said softly, keeping his head down, his eyes closed, fighting back tears.  “I thought, maybe I could stay with you for a little bit, until I found somewhere to go.”

“Why on earth wouldn’t you go home, Patrick?  Good lord, that Jonny of yours, he’s been looking for you all this time.  He’s been on TV just about every chance he can get, every day it seems like.  Asking for help from folks, offering a reward, begging for that man to let you go.”

“Jonny?”  Patrick’s head shot up.  “That’s impossible.  Jon’s… Jon’s dead.  Coach Bill killed him.  I saw him on the floor.”

“He’s not dead, Patrick.   Oh lord, that why you think you got nothing to go home to?  Patrick, that boy been out of his mind sick with worry, so they say in the news.  We need to let him know you’re safe.”

“No.  No.  It’s not true.  You’re lying to me.”  Patrick shook his head side-to-side.  He didn’t believe Goodie.  “You’re lying.  He got to you.  Coach Bill got to you.  He’s still alive, isn’t he.  He found you and you’re gonna take me back.”

Patrick’s body shook with fear.  He felt trapped.  He twisted on the seat and fumbled with the door handle, desperately trying to get out of the cab.  Goodie grabbed him and pulled him to his chest, holding him tight as Patrick struggled.

“No!  No!”  Patrick screamed, tears now rolling down his cheeks.  “I won’t go back.  I won’t let you take me back to him.”

“Patrick.  Patrick.”  Goodie repeated his name, trying to calm Patrick down.  “It’s okay.  It’s okay.  He’s not going to hurt you.  I won’t let him.  It’s okay.  Please.”

Some other truckers had heard Patrick scream and noticed the commotion in Goodie’s cab.  When Goodie noticed them outside, he let go of Patrick with one arm just long enough to open his door.

“Call an ambulance.”  He shouted.  “And the police.”

“You need help?”  One of the men asked.

“No.  No.  The boy does.  I know him.  It’s okay.  But he needs help.  And the police.”

Patrick continued to struggle against Goodie’s restraint hold.

 “Let me go!”  He kept screaming.  “Let me go!”

“It’s gonna be okay, Patrick.”  Goodie repeated.  “We gonna get you home to your Jonny.  He’s gonna make it okay.”

“No!  He’s dead!  Jonny’s dead!  I know it!  He killed him!  He killed Jonny.  He’s dead.  He’s dead.”  Patrick suddenly went still in Goodie’s arms.  “I… I killed him… I killed him.” He sobbed.

Patrick fell against Goodie.  “I killed him.”

“Who Patrick?  Jonny.  I’m telling you, he’s not dead.  You didn’t kill him.  That man didn’t kill…”

“No.”  Patrick choked out .  “Coach Bill.  I killed Coach Bill”

“Oh, Patrick.” Goodie held him tight as Patrick sobbed against his chest.


	12. 257 Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was day 257, and it was no longer just another day. It was the day Jon got Patrick back.

Late February…

“Jon?  Jon, can you hear me?  Can you wake up?”

He could hear someone talking to him.  His head hurt.  He tried to force his eyes open, but the pull of the darkness was too powerful.  He drifted back into it.

“He is going to be okay?”  Patrick Sharp asked the doctor standing on the other side of Jon’s of the emergency room bed.  It wasn’t the ‘Hawks team doctor, just the ER doctor.

“We have no way of knowing for sure.  He took a hard blow to the head.”  Doctor Dumbass, as Sharpy had named him earlier, repeated his standard, non-committal response that Sharpy was sure he’d told everyone.

“I know.  But, what do his tests show?”  He just wished one of the team’s doctors would show up.

“I can’t release that information, Mr. Sharp.  I’m sorry.”  Dumbass said.  “Only time will tell how Jon recovers from this.  We’ll be moving him up to a room soon.”

With that, the doctor left the room.  A few minutes later, Brent came back with a cup of coffee for Sharpy.  They had been allowed to come in and wait in the room with Jon.  Word was spreading among the team, Q and Bowman were on their way.  They’d taken x-rays, but that was the extent of any tests. 

“Well?”

“Nothing.”  Sharpy huffed.  “Have they been able to reach Doc T or any of the neurologists?” 

“The last text from Q says they’re still trying.  This guy’s supposed to be good, he’s just never worked with any of us before, so I’m guessing he’s just covering his ass.”

“Any word from Patrick?  God, I wish he’d answer his phone.  He needs to get his ass here.”

Brent shook his head.  “Jon’s parents will be on their way soon.  Stan sent a charter to get them.”

“That’s good.”  Sharpy checked his phone for the hundredth time to see if he’d gotten any text from the other Patrick.  Nothing.

“Duncs is on his way.”  Brent scrolled down through his texts.  “And Crow.  Okay, so pretty much everybody has gotten word and is on their way.”

“That’s good, too.”  Sharpy sat down on a stool and scrubbed his hands over his face.  “God, this is unreal.”

“Jon’s lucky you went over.”  Brent brushed a hand over Jon’s forehead. 

“Yeah.”  Sharpy sighed.  “I just wish we knew what happened.  And where Peeks is.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Where the hell is Kane?”  Coach Q questioned his players as they sat in the waiting room.  “Has anybody been able to get him?”

No one had heard from Patrick for hours.  No texts.  No phone messages.  Nothing.

“This isn’t good.”  Brent whispered to Duncan.  “Sharpy thinks they had a fight and Patrick took off.”

“But that doesn’t explain what happened to Tazer.  Do you think he just slipped and hit his head?”  Keith replied.  “Has anybody called the police?  Should we?  If Peek’s missing?  What if?”

“His coach is dead.  That’s what the people in Canada told him.”

“I don’t know.  Maybe we should talk to Q and Stan and see what they think.”

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Jon stirred and Sharpy instantly leaned over and took his hand. 

“Come on, Toe-es.  Wake up, bud.”

Jon’s eyelids fluttered.  “Patrick.”

“Right here, yeah, come on, Jon.”

“No.  Peeks.  No.”  Jon mumbled.

“What about Peeks?”

Jon started to toss and turn, raising his arms as if to protect himself.  “No.  Peeks.”

“Jonny?  Did Patrick hurt you?”

Jon struggled to wake up, to go towards Sharpy’s voice.

“No.  Coach.”

Patrick sat straight up, stunned. 

“Jon, you gotta wake up.”

Jon’s eyes opened slowly.  He blinked several times, trying to focus on Patrick. 

“Anderson.” He said.

Patrick felt like someone kicked him in the gut, an ominous feeling of cold sweeping over him.

“Fuck.” Patrick said as he sprang up, rushing out of the room to let the others know what happened to Kaner.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_A week after his apparent abduction by his former coach, Patrick Kane’s whereabouts remain a mystery._

Jon read the first line of the Chicago Tribune’s article.  A week.  It had been a week since William Anderson had appeared out of nowhere and attacked Jon.  A week with no sign of Patrick.  A week that Jon had been stuck in this fucking hospital bed, unable to do anything to help Patrick.

He’d told the police all he knew.  He’d been startled by Anderson, thinking it was Patrick coming home at first.  He’d seen him just as the man hit him with something.  Jon wasn’t sure what, but he’d gotten his arm up to take part of the blow.  The force of it staggered him and before he could react, Anderson had swung again, catching Jon in the head.  Jon didn’t remember anything else.

He needed to get out of the hospital.  He needed to find Patrick.  Anderson had to have him.  Jon just prayed that he hadn’t hurt Patrick.  The police, and the FBI who’d been called in, didn’t believe Anderson would hurt Patrick.  From what evidence they’d gathered from the prison in Canada, this was a case of obsession, and stalking.  But, they could be wrong.  At least, that was Jon’s thought.   To him, Anderson was capable of anything.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

March…

“I want to offer a reward.”  Jon informed the FBI agent in charge of the investigation.  “It’s been a month and you’ve got nothing.  Maybe someone out there knows something.  Maybe they’ll come forward if we offer a reward.”

“I don’t believe that’s a good idea, Jon.  Money only encourages kidnappers.  If they think they can get money…”

“This isn’t some fucking normal kidnapping.  This man took Patrick because of some warped sense of reality.  He’s not after money.  There’s been no contact.  Nothing.  He never asked for a ransom.  This isn’t some ransom, it’s a reward for information on Patrick’s whereabouts.”

“The ‘Hawks agree with Jon.  We think Jon should offer a reward.”

“I’ve made several pleas on TV.  We need to go to the next step.”  Jon’s determined that he’s doing this.

“We can’t recommend it.”  The agent says.  “But we can’t stop you from doing it if it’s what you feel you need to do.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

May…

The Blackhawks made it to the second round of the playoffs before losing to the Stars in six games. 

Jon sat in his stall in the locker room staring at the empty stall across the room.  Patrick’s gear hanging in it, as it had for every game since he’d been taken.  It was clean-out day.  Jon would need to pack-up Patrick’s personal items today. 

“Okay?”  Sharpy stepped in front of Jon, blocking his view of the locker.

“No.  Of course not.”  His trance broken, Jon went back to shoving things into his bag. 

Sharpy sat down in the vacant stall next to Jon’s.  “What’re you gonna do?  Seabs says you won’t talk.”

Jon shrugged, jamming some tape into his bag.

“Are you going home?  Staying here?  Abby and I are staying in Chicago this summer.  Why don’t you stay with us?”

Jon shook his head. 

“Toes?”  Sharpy waited for Jon to look at him.  “You haven’t been in the house since that day.  Do you think you should stay there now?  When you won’t have hockey to take your mind off Patrick?”

“Hockey doesn’t take my mind off him.”  Jon stated coldly.  “I never stop thinking about Patrick.”

“I know, bud.  I just,” Sharpy sighed.  “I didn’t mean it like that.  Look.  Seabs is going on vacation for a month.  I just figured that if you weren’t going to your parents’ that you should come stay with me and Abby.  And not at the house alone.”

“I’ll think about it.”  Jon went back to packing.

“You want me to pack Patrick’s stuff for you?”

“No.  I’ll do it.”  Jon kept his head down.

Sharpy didn’t know what else to do or say at the moment.  The team had managed to keep Jon going through the end of the season.  He’d moved back in with Seabs, unable to bring himself to go back to his and Patrick’s home.  But today, this was by far the most withdrawn Sharpy had seen Jon.  And it worried him.

“Jon.”  Sharpy stood and put his hand on Jon’s shoulder, causing Jon to stop what he was doing. 

“Not today.  Okay?  Just, not today.”  Jon whispered.  “I can’t think about anything today.”

“Okay, bud.” 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

September…

Training camp started.  Patrick’s nametag went up over his stall.  His gear hung up neatly. 

Life continued. 

No, not life.

Existence. 

Jon was simply… existing.  Going through the motions.

He’d spent the off-season working on locating Patrick.  He was on TV as often as he could be, as much as anyone would let him.  He gave interview after interview.  He begged and pleaded for Anderson to let Patrick go.  He met with FBI agents regularly.  They followed hundreds, thousands of leads.  All to no avail.   William Anderson had taken Patrick and completely disappeared.

Jon threw himself into getting ready for the new season.

And, he moved back into his house.

Alone.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

November…

November 4th was just another day to most people.  To Jon, it was day 256 without Patrick. 

He woke up in his hotel room in Nashville.  The ‘Hawks were in the middle of a four-game road trip.  It was a game day.

Jon went through his morning routine, mindlessly showering and shaving.  He joined his teammates for breakfast.  He sat and stared out the bus window on the short ride to Bridgestone Arena.  He warmed up, then joined the team for the pre-game skate.  That was followed by the bus ride back to the hotel.

Sharpy and Seabs tried to get him to join them for lunch, but Jon passed.  He very rarely went out with his teammates any more.  Instead, he went back up to his room.  He ordered some room service, then settled in for his pre-game nap.

When he woke up, it was time for another shower.   Then it was another bus ride, followed by pre-game prep.  He taped his sticks.  He went through his warm-up.  He played his game.

The ‘Hawks won.  Jon scored.  They flew out to Arizona.

The next morning, Jon woke up and went through his morning routine again.  It was just another day.  They had an off day in Glendale.  No team obligations.  

Jon stood in front of the mirror, staring blankly at his reflection.  He should go down to breakfast.  He would make himself do it today.  He’d join his friends, his teammates.

He didn’t.  He went and sat down on his bed and dialed room service.  He ordered his breakfast and waited for it to be delivered.  He laid back on the bed and closed his eyes.  His thoughts, as always, went to Patrick.  A million scenarios about what had happened, what Patrick was going through, ran through his mind. 

The knock at the door brought him back to reality.  He got up and went to let the person in with his food, not noticing that they had not announced that they were room service. 

Jon opened the door.  Joel Quenneville stood before him. 

“He’s been found.  He’s alive.”

It was day 257, and it was no longer just another day.  It was the day Jon got Patrick back.


	13. Reunited

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey,” He said, “look at me.”
> 
> Patrick tipped his head back.
> 
> “See. It’s me. I’m really here and you’re really safe.”
> 
> “I… he said….” Patrick choked out between breaths. “I… saw you… on the floor…”
> 
> “He just knocked me out.” Jon kissed Patrick’s face, wiped his tears away. “I’m okay, Patrick. I am. And, I’m here.”

Patrick was awake, but he kept his eyes closed and tried not to move.  He was on a mattress, a soft pillow under his head.  He hoped he was in the sleeping compartment of Goodie’s semi.  He feared he was in the bed back at the farmhouse, that his escape had all been a dream.

He listened carefully.  He could make out several voices talking in hushed tones.  None of them sounded like his coach.  He tried to open his eyes just enough to see where he was.

It looked like a hospital room, all light colors and sterile.  He opened his eyes a little more.  Goodie was standing at the end of the bed talking to a woman.  She didn’t look like a nurse, maybe a doctor.  Next to her was Stan.  And, next to Stan was…

Jon.

Patrick blinked a few times, the tears forming behind his lids.  He held his eyes closed and took a deep breath.  He had to be dreaming.  This couldn’t be real.  He was sure that when he opened his eyes again, he’d be back in the farmhouse with Anderson.

He felt a hand on his cheek, heard the soft voice filled with love.  “Patrick?  Patrick, are you awake?”

Patrick opened his eyes.  Jon’s face was just above his.  Jon’s eyes filled with worry.  Patrick squeezed his eyes shut tight.

“No.  It’s not real.  You’re not here.  You can’t be.”

Jon cradled Patrick’s face in his hands.  Leaning down, he kissed Patrick’s forehead, his cheeks, his lips.  He brushed away the tears with his thumbs.

“Sssshhh… I’m here.  You’re safe.  I’m here, Patrick.  You’re not dreaming.”

“No.”  Patrick tried to push Jon away.  “Get away from me.  Don’t touch me.”

Patrick wasn’t seeing Jon.  Wasn’t hearing Jon.

“You’re dead.”  Patrick cried out and started pounding on Jon’s chest.  “You’re dead.  I killed you.  I killed you.”

Patrick tried to twist away.  Jon slipped his arms around him and pulled him tight.  He kept his face next to Patrick’s ear, talking softly to him.

“Patrick, it’s me.  I’m here.  Look at me.”  Jon said.  His words didn’t seem to be reaching Patrick.  Then it came to him.  “I love you, Peeks.  Té bin nono.  Oui?  Nono.”

He repeated the phase in French, a thing he’d started saying to Patrick back when they’d first moved in together.  He said it every time Patrick did something that Patrick thought upset Jon.   Jon hadn’t told Patrick what it meant, so Patrick had thought Jon was swearing at him in French.  It was a term of endearment, however, and Jon hoped those words reached Patrick now.

“Criss de nono.  I love you Patrick.  Please.  Look at me.”

It took a minute, but Patrick stopped struggling.  Stopped striking out at Jon.  Instead his hands twisted into the loose fabric of Jon’s shirt.  Patrick buried his head against Jon’s chest.

“Jon?  Jonny?”

Jon repeated the words, adding, “It’s me, Patrick.  I’m okay.  You’re safe here with me.”

Patrick’s body sagged against Jon, going completely limp as all the emotions he’d been holding in over the past months flooded out in uncontrolled wailing.  Jon held him tight, talking softly, letting Patrick cry until the wails became sobs and finally small hiccupping noises.  Jon caressed up and down Patrick’s back, over his shoulders, comforting him until his body stopped shaking.

“Hey,” He said, “look at me.”

Patrick tipped his head back.

“See.  It’s me.  I’m really here and you’re really safe.”

“I… he said….”  Patrick choked out between breaths.  “I… saw you… on the floor…”

“He just knocked me out.”  Jon kissed Patrick’s face, wiped his tears away.  “I’m okay, Patrick.  I am.  And, I’m here.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

A few hours later, Patrick woke with a jolt, sitting up and looking around, panicked.

“Hey.  It’s okay, Patrick.” Goodie says, getting up out of the chair across the room and coming to stand by Patrick’s bed.  “You’re safe.  I’m right here.”

“Jonny?”  Patrick asks.  “Where’s Jonny?  Was he really here?”

“He’s with Mr. Bowman.  Said they had arrangements to make to get you back to Chicago.”

Patrick took in his surroundings, a starkly plain hospital room.  The TV was on, some game show that Goodie must have been watching.  A breaking news notice about him being found was scrolling across the bottom of the screen.  He wasn’t dreaming.  He was safe.

“Can I get you anything?  Something to drink?  The nurse said to ring for him when you woke up.  Said he’d bring you something to eat.”  Goodie kept talking as he pressed the call button.  “I can go get you something if you don’t want the hospital food.  Can’t say as I’ve ever liked it the couple of times I was stuck in a hospital bed.”

Patrick shook his head.  “Whatever they bring will be fine.”

A nice looking young man in scrubs walked in to Patrick’s room.  He was pushing a small cart with a computer on it and some other medical equipment.

“Well, look who’s awake again.”  He hooked Patrick up to a BP cuff and slipped a small clip over a finger to check his blood oxygen and pulse rate. 

“Everything looks good.” He said once he had all his readings.  “How are you feeling?  Hungry?”

“Yeah.”  Patrick kept his gaze fixed on his lap, unable to look up and meet the nurse’s eyes.  “I guess.”

“I’ll be back with a tray.  Mr. Williams, would you like me to bring you something, too?”

“No, I’m fine, son.  Thank you, though.”

The nurse left the room.  A short time later, he came back with a tray of food.  It didn’t look like any hospital food Patrick had ever seen.

“Doctor’s orders.  We’re to go get you food from the staff cafeteria.  These are things Mr. Toews said you’d like.  If you want something else, just let me know.  You can have as much of anything you want.”

On the tray was a small pepperoni pizza, chicken nuggets with a couple of different dipping sauces, a tossed salad, some French fries, cookies, milk and a bottle of water.

“It all looks good.  Thank you.”  Goodie offered when Patrick didn’t say anything.

The nurse set the tray down on the bedside stand and left, telling Patrick to just ring if he needed anything else.  Patrick sat up on the edge of the bed, his legs dangling over the side.

“When’s Jon coming back?”  He asked.

“Not sure.  He said he wouldn’t be gone too long.  Course that was over an hour ago.”  Goodie sat back down.

Patrick picked up a nugget and took a small bite, chewing slowly.  “You want some.  He brought me too much.”

“You need to eat.  Doc said so.  Said you looked like you’d been starved.”  Goodie smiled over at him.  “Course, you was all skin and bones to begin with I told him.”

Patrick smiled.  The first time he’d smiled in months.  Goodie had kidded him the whole time that Patrick was with him about how thin Patrick was.  He was always telling him his mother would be trying to fatten Patrick up.

“Okay.  But there’s still a lot.”

Goodie slid his chair closer, so he could reach the tray.  He reached up and took a nugget.  “Okay.  If you insist.”

Patrick ate a few more bites of food, opened his water bottle and took several swigs, then sat there with his head down for a few minutes.

“Goodie.  I can’t go back to Chicago.”  He whispered.

“What’s that?”  Goodie turned from the TV.  “Why would you think that, Patrick.  You said that before, too.  But, Jonny’s alive.  All your friends.  Your team.  They all so relieved you’re okay.  Everything’s going to be okay.  You don’t need to worry ‘bout what’s gonna happen no more.”

“I can’t.  I can’t go back and face all those people.”  Patrick shook his head slowly.  “Not after… not after what I did.”

“What you did?  Oh Patrick, you didn’t do anything wrong.  You fought for your life and you got away from that man.  He’s the one what did wrong.”  Goodie tried to reassure Patrick.  “It’s gonna be okay.  The police and FBI agents were here earlier, when you were sleeping.  They talked to Jon and Mr. Bowman, said they’d come back and talk to you tomorrow.  But they seemed to think you did what you had to do.”

“I killed him.”  Patrick whispered.  “I killed Coach Bill.  How do I face them after that?”  Patrick’s voice got even softer.  “How do I face them after… after what he did to me?”

“Patrick, they gonna all understand.  No one going to think bad of you if that’s the problem.”

“No.  It’s not.  You don’t understand.”  Patrick pushed the stand away and laid back down, rolling on his side facing away from Goodie.  “Nobody’s going to understand.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------

When Patrick opened his eyes again, Jon was sitting in a chair next to the bed, typing on his phone.

“Hi there.”  Jon smiled, leaning over to kiss Patrick.

“Hi.”

Patrick rolled over on his back and looked around.

“Where’s Goodie?”

“He went to the hotel for the night.  Said to tell you he’d be back in the morning to say good-bye before he takes off.”  Jon said, still typing out a text.  “Sharpy and Seabs say hi.  Well, everybody says hi, actually.  They’ve all been hounding me for information.  Want to know how you are.”

“Tell them hi back.”  Patrick replied.  “And that I’m okay.”

Jon typed a few more things, then set his phone down on the bed stand.  He got up and changed positions so he was sitting on the bed next to Patrick’s side.  He reached up and brushed some curls off Patrick’s forehead.

“You’re not okay, Peeks.  Are you?”

“I’m fine.  Now that you’re here.”  Patrick said, a small smile on his face, but his voice was cold and detached to Jon.

“No.  You’re not.  And no one expects you to be.  You went through hell, Patrick, I’m sure.  I can’t imagine what you had to endure.”

Patrick turned his face away from Jon.  “Goodie said the police want to talk to me tomorrow.”

“They wanted to give you a day to make sure that physically, you weren’t seriously injured or anything.  But, they want to see if you can lead them back to where he had you, where… where his body is.”

“I don’t want to go back there.”

“I know.”  Jon said.  He got up and nudged Patrick’s shoulder.  “Scoot over.”

Jon climbed on the bed and stretched out next to Patrick, who rolled over on his side and snuggled in against Jon.  Jon wrapped an arm around Patrick’s shoulders and lightly brushed his fingers up and down Patrick’s arm.  Patrick laid his head on Jon’s shoulder and closed his eyes.  

“Are you missing games to be here?”  Patrick asked.

“We had an off day today.  I’m gonna miss tomorrow’s game in Arizona.  We’ll just take things day-by-day after that.  Both Stan and Q said to not worry about it, that I need to be here for you.”

“That’s good.”  Patrick exhaled softly.  “I guess.  But you shouldn’t miss games because of me.”

“It’ll be okay.  I just want to be here with you.  I’m not sure I could keep my head in a game right now.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too, Patrick.”

That night, Patrick slept, really slept, for the first time in what seemed like forever to him.  Safe, sound, and warm, wrapped up in Jon’s arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Té bin nono. Oui? Nono. You're an idiot Yes? Idiot.
> 
> Jon says it with all fondness when Patrick does something dumb or funny....


	14. Going Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Patrick sat up and watched out the window as the charter plane made its final approach to the airport.  Once it was on the ground, it taxied to a private hanger, which confused Patrick and Jon.  This wasn’t where they normally disembarked from ‘Hawks charters.
> 
> Jon stood and led Patrick to the cabin door.  When they stepped out onto the stairs, they understood.

“Please.”  Patrick begged him.  “Please, Goodie, let me go with you.”

“Oh, Patrick.  You know you can’t do that.  You can’t run away from your problems.  Not like you done before.”  Goodie sat on the edge of the bed next to Patrick, who was dressed and just waiting for his discharge paperwork.  Jon had gone to see if he could hurry it along.

“I’m not running away.  I’d just be going with you for a while.  Until I felt better.”  Patrick rubbed his hands up and down his thighs, all nervous energy as he fidgeted, unable to sit still.  “Until I… until I can face everybody again.”

He looked up at Goodie, eyes pleading.  Patrick didn’t know if he could face his friends, his teammates.  Jon repeatehedly told him it would be okay, but Patrick couldn’t convince himself.  He also didn’t want to meet with the police and FBI agents.  They’d already come in and talked to him earlier. 

If he could just slip out and go with Goodie, he wouldn’t have to face them.  Or anyone. 

But then, he wouldn’t be with Jon either.  As if reading Patrick’s mind, Goodie wrapped his big arm around Patrick’s shoulders and pulled him close. 

“Jon will be there to take care of you.  He won’t let nothing bad happen.”

Patrick laid his head on Goodie’s chest and breathed in and out slowly, trying to calm his thoughts.  Goodie rubbed his hand up and down Patrick’s arm, soothingly. 

“Jon said you won’t take the reward.”

“Why should I?  You found me.  I didn’t find you.”  Goodie chuckled.  “I don’t need it, Patrick.  I’ve got everything in life I could want.  My own truck.  I’m not tied down to anything.  I travel the country.  I got a good life.”

“Yeah?  I guess.  But you could retire and not have to work anymore.  Wouldn’t you like that?”

“Retire and do what?”  Goodie laughed.  “I’d go out of my head I’d be so bored.   I like driving.  It ain’t work if you love what you’re doing.  Don’t you feel that way ‘bout hockey?”

“I guess so.  But you could take it and still keep driving.  I want you to have it.”

“I’ll think about it.  But you know what, you could give me something that would mean more to me than any amount of money.”

Patrick sat back and looked at Goodie, puzzled.

“I like not being tied down, but I kinda miss not having a family.  My mama’s long gone.  I don’t have any brothers or sisters.  It’s just me.  When I had you with me that first time, I thought a lot about not having anyone.  I always wondered what happened to you, wished I’d given you my number or something so we could stay in touch.  Then when I saw you in the NHL, well I been following your career.”

“You should have come to see me, in Chicago.”  Patrick offered.

“You were a big-time hockey player.  Why’d you want someone who reminded you of unhappy times hanging around?”  Goodie smiled at him fondly and shushed Patrick when he tried to protest.  “Anyway.  When you found me, looking for help, that made me think.  I believe things in life happen for a reason.  Don’t you?  Fate’s what brought you back into my life. So.  I’m guessing it’s what’s supposed to be.  And, if you’d let me, I’d like to stop in and see you and Jon now and again.  Kind of like having a family.”

“That’d be awesome.”  Patrick exclaimed happily.  “I’d like that, and I think Jon would, too.”

“Tell you what.  If’n it gets too bad for you, you just give me a call and I’ll come to Chicago and we’ll figure something out.  Okay?  Maybe even if you just come with me for a short trip, to get away.  But you need to go back for now, with Jon.  That sound okay to you?”

Patrick threw his arms around the big, burly man, hugging him tightly.  Patrick relaxed against Goodie’s side.  “Thank you.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------

Patrick sat on the charter plane watching the clouds below them.  They were about 30 minutes out of O’Hare.  His stomach was churning.  His heart racing.  He felt sick to his stomach. 

He’d thought about slipping out of the hospital after Goodie left, about sneaking out and stowing away in his truck.  It wasn’t running away, he told himself, again.  It was, just, taking a trip.  Yeah.  Taking a trip to get himself back together.  Before he tried going home with Jon.

He let his hand slid over the armrest and reach for Jon’s hand, lacing their fingers together.  He tipped his head, leaning over to rest it on Jon’s shoulder.

“You okay?”  Jon squeezed Patrick’s hand.

“Yeah.  Just nervous.”

“Why?”

“There’ll be press.  And lots of people.  And our friends.”

“It’ll be okay, Peeks.  I’ll be right beside you.”

“I know.  I’m just.  What are people going to think about what I did?”

“Nobody’s going to hate you for it.  Patrick, for christ’s sake, he kidnapped you.  He assaulted you.  You can’t feel guilty.  You did what you had to do.”

Patrick closed his eyes, trying to relax.  Jon just didn’t understand.  He couldn’t.  Patrick tried not to think about what awaited him in Chicago.

Stan had set up a press conference for when they got back to Chicago.  Just something where people would see that Patrick was in fact safe and not injured.  The Blackhawks would be releasing a statement that they were placing him on long-term injured reserve for now.  And, that Jon would be missing at least two another week as a healthy scratch, so that he could be with Patrick.

It had been five days since Patrick had been found, four since he’d been discharged from the hospital.  In that time, he’d been interviewed at least half a dozen times by the FBI agents working his case.  That how they referred to it, anyway.  Jon called it interrogations.  They questioned Patrick over and over about his time with Anderson.  At first, Patrick broke down when he talked about Anderson raping him, about the months of abuse, about killing his former coach.  By the end, Patrick had recounted his story so many times, he’d finally become numb to it.

Using google maps, Patrick was able to locate the farm where he’d spent his first night after escaping.  From there, they helped him back track to the farm where Anderson had held him for all those months. They’d wanted to take Patrick back there, to identify Anderson’s body.  Patrick refused to go.  Refused to even look at any pictures.  Identification would just have to wait for DNA results because his body had started to decompose. 

After a couple of days of intense… interviews… they finally decided that Patrick had acted in self-defense.  He’d face no criminal charges.  The fact that they’d even considered charging Patrick blew Jon’s mind.  Patrick just told him, “I killed him Jon.”

Patrick’s reaction worried Jon.  There were moments when Patrick smiled, and acted like he was glad to be back with Jon.  But there were more times when Patrick was distant, even cold, towards Jon and everyone else.  After that first night, when Patrick had slept so soundly with his head on Jon’s chest, things had changed.  Patrick barely ate.  He barely slept.  When he did, it was fitful and restless.  He would jolt awake in a cold sweat, staring blankly at Jon.  Jon would have trouble getting him to calm down.

Jon was anxious to get back to Chicago.  They’d contacted the counselor who’d seen Patrick before, after the trials for Anderson and his father.  The counselor Sharpy had insisted Patrick go see.  She had been extremely helpful in getting Patrick past what had happened, helping him adjust to his new life.  Now, Jon hoped she could help Patrick through this trauma.

Patrick sat up and watched out the window as the charter plane made its final approach to the airport.  Once it was on the ground, it taxied to a private hanger, which confused Patrick and Jon.  This wasn’t where they normally disembarked from ‘Hawks charters.

Jon stood and led Patrick to the cabin door.  When they stepped out onto the stairs, they understood.

Stan Bowman, Joel Quenneville, and several of the players waited next to a couple of limousines, all with darkened back windows.  Patrick followed Jon down the steps, his head down, gaze focused on Jon’s feet.

“What’s up?”  Jon asked, cautiously.

“We cancelled the press conference.  We handed out the release in advance, and based on some of the questions we were getting, we felt it better not to subject Patrick to that.”  Stan explained.  “All the boys wanted to come, but we thought that would be a little too much as well.”

“Welcome home, Patrick.”  Q stepped forward.  Patrick let the coach give him a hug, but stayed stiff.  He never let go of Jon’s hand.

Seabs, Duncs, and Crow all gave him a hug and fussed over him.  Patrick tried to smile, but didn’t return any of the hugs.  He kept his head down, avoiding eye contact with the others.  One-by-one, they all stepped back, giving Jon looks of concern over Patrick’s lack of emotions.  Jon just shook his head, as worried as they were.  He squeezed Patrick’s hand, trying to reassure him that it was okay. 

Then Sharpy stepped up to Patrick.

“Hey, Peekaboo.  You have no idea how happy we are that you’re okay.”  He wrapped his arms around Patrick and pulled him close.

Patrick pulled his hand away from Jon’s and slid his arms around Sharpy’s waist.  He buried his head against Sharpy’s chest.  And the tears started to flow freely from his eyes.


	15. Things Aren't What They Were

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He’s going to see the counselor?” Abby asked.
> 
> “Yeah. In a couple of days. I wanted to let him get settled here first.” Jon answers. “I’m worried about him.”
> 
> “What’s up, bud?” Sharpy puts his hand on Jon’s shoulder. “I was concerned, too, with the way he was around Q and the others.”
> 
> “He’s different.”
> 
> “Of course he is, Jon. He’s been through a lot. He thought you were dead. He killed his coach.” Abby got up to clear the table as she talked. “It’s going to take time, but you need to know, he may not ever be the same, old Patrick.”

Sharpy rode with Patrick and Jon, while the others took different limos home.  The boys will be going to stay with Abby and him for the time being.  The press had camped out at the boys’ house he told them.  Patrick was quiet and withdrawn on the ride to the house, even though Sharpy tried to get him to talk.

When they got there, he hugged Abby and thanked her for letting them stay there.  He played with baby Maddie while Abby finished fixing dinner.  She was making his favorite thing, tacos, for Patrick’s welcome home meal.  He managed to eat a couple, then excused himself, saying he was tired and going to bed.  Jon stayed and talked to the Sharps.

“He’s going to see the counselor?”  Abby asked.

“Yeah.  In a couple of days.  I wanted to let him get settled here first.”  Jon answers.  “I’m worried about him.”

“What’s up, bud?”  Sharpy puts his hand on Jon’s shoulder.  “I was concerned, too, with the way he was around Q and the others.”

“He’s different.”

“Of course he is, Jon.  He’s been through a lot.  He thought you were dead.  He killed his coach.”  Abby got up to clear the table as she talked.  “It’s going to take time, but you need to know, he may not ever be the same, old Patrick.”

“The counselor came and talked to the team about Patrick.  Explaining what he’d most likely gone through, what to maybe expect from him.  She had some good advice for us.”  Sharpy sipped at his coffee as he talked.  “She said that we shouldn’t expect Patrick to just slide back into his life here.  It’ll take time for him to readjust.”

“He seemed okay, the first day.  He talked some.  He let me hold him.  But now, he’s been pulling away.”

“Things probably hit him.  Ya know.  Once he got over the initial, I don’t know, relief or whatever, she said that he may go through phases like shock, or grief, or a lot of things.”

“How do we help him.”

“Be there for him when he asks for help.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

Patrick was stretched out on his stomach, one arm tucked up under his head, the other at his side.  He was on top of the covers, still in his jeans and hoodie.  Jon stood in the doorway for several minutes watching the slow, steady rise and fall of Patrick’s chest. 

Abby had talked to him more about what changes he might see in Patrick.  What to expect.  She’d told him everyone was different, of course.  Jon had listened and nodded, and listened some more.   He couldn’t really explain what he meant by Patrick being different, just that he was.

Patrick had slept in Jon’s arms that first night.  Since then, the affection had been almost non-existent, except for letting Jon hold his hand, or leaning on Jon’s shoulder sometimes, like on the plane ride.  When Jon tries to kiss him, even if just on the cheek or forehead, Patrick pulls away or tenses.  They’d been sleeping in the same bed in the hotel, but Patrick had kept space between them since that first night.  He changed and got dressed in the bathroom, out of sight of Jon.  When they ate their meals, Patrick would wait until Jon started eating, then he’d hesitantly eat, too.  He’d tell Jon he was going to the bathroom, or more accurately, Jon thought it was as if Patrick was asking his permission to go. 

It was those things that Jon meant when he said Patrick was different.  And truthfully, he had expected some of it and he understood some of it.  What he didn’t know was what he needed to do to help Patrick.  He wanted to just wrap him up in his arms and love him, but Patrick wasn’t letting him do that. 

He walked over to the bed.   He didn’t want to startle Patrick, but he’d have to wake him if he was going to be able to go to bed with him.  He’d have to have Patrick move over and make room.  Jon stood there, unsure of what to do.  Finally, he turned and left.

He told Sharpy and Abby he hadn’t wanted to disturb Patrick, and they said they understood.  They sat in the living room watching a movie.  Jon was asleep in a large, overstuffed chair when the movie ended.  Abby covered him with a blanket and kisses his forehead.  Then she took her husband’s hand and followed him to their room.  They stayed up late talking over their worries about their boys.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_“Get off me!”  Patrick screamed.  “No!”_

_Hands held him down.  He tried to struggle.  He thrashed his arms about, striking out at the large form looming over him._

_“You’re mine, Patty.  You’ll always be mine.”_

_“No!  Never!”  Patrick cried out again._

Patrick was tossing and turning violently on the bed when Jon got to him.  His arms were swinging wildly above his head.

“Patrick!”  Jon called to him.  It took several tries before Jon was able to grab Patrick’s hands and pin them to the bed.  Patrick twisted his body, kicking out now.  Fighting to get away.  “Patrick!  Wake up!  Baby, it’s okay!  Please, wake up!”

“No!  Get off me!”  Patrick yelled. 

“Jon?”  Sharpy said as he bolted into the room.  He rushed to the bed and grabbed Patrick’s legs, which were kicking at Jon frantically.  “Jesus.  What…”

“He’s having a nightmare.  I think.  God I hope.”  Jon said in a rush.  “Patrick!  Wake up!”

“No!  You killed him!  You killed him, you fucking bastard!”  Patrick yelled.  “Get off me!  I hate you!  I hate you!”

“Patrick!  Please!  It’s okay!  You’re safe!  You’re here with me!  You’re safe!”  Jon pleaded as he and Sharpy held Patrick down.  “Please, Peeks…”

Patrick’s body stopped moving, his muscles all going tense.  Jon looked down and Patrick’s eyes were wide open, staring up at him.  A look of sheer terror on Patrick’s face.  Then, just as quickly as he’d stopped moving, Patrick’s whole body went lax under him.

“Jonny?”  The look on Patrick’s face softened.  He blinked a few times and looked around.  “Jon?  Where are we?”

“Sharpy’s.  Remember?”

“Hey, Peeks.”  Sharpy said from the end of the bed.  He released his grip on Patrick’s legs. 

Jon let go of Patrick’s arms.  Patrick rolled onto his side and curled up in a ball, hugging his knees tight to his chest.

“Go away.  Just leave me alone.”

“Patrick?”  Jon touched his back lightly, and Patrick shivered.

“Just go away.”

Jon turned and looked to Sharpy, his eyes glistening   Sharpy shook his head and shrugged, nodding at the door.

“Sure thing, Peeks.  We’ll go.”  Sharpy said softly.  “Come on Jon.”

Jon got up off the bed, gave one last look at Patrick, and walked out of the room.

“I don’t…”

“Ssshh… “ Sharpy said, walking away from the door so Patrick wouldn’t hear them.

“I don’t know, bud.”  He said to Jon as they stood in the hallway.  “But, I don’t think it would do him any good to press him.”

“But, you saw him.  Why won’t he let me be there for him.  This is the worst I’ve seen since he was found.  He’s had nightmares, but nothing like…”  Jon turned and looked back towards the bedroom door. 

“We just have to give him time, and space.  I know it’s hard.  But it’s what the counselor told us, what I tried to tell you earlier.”  Sharpy pulled Jon in for a hug.  “Go see if he’s calmed down.  If he hasn’t, just give him some space, okay?  We’ll talk in the morning.”

“Okay.”  Jon sighed.  “I just…”

“I know.  It’s gonna be hard.”  Sharpy let him go.  “Go on.”

Jon tiptoed back to the bedroom and stood in the doorway. 

“Patrick?” 

“What?”

“Can I come back in?”

Patrick didn’t answer right away, so Jon turned to go.

“Yeah.” Came a soft reply.

Jon walked over to the bed.  Patrick was still curled up in a fetal position, drawn in on himself.  Jon climbed on the bed and laid down, careful not to touch Patrick.  They laid there, silent, for what seemed like an eternity to Jon.  Should he hug Patrick?  Should he touch him at all?  Should he just get up and leave?  Was Patrick finally sleeping?  Should he say something?

His thoughts were interrupted by Patrick shifting on the bed.  Patrick rolled over and stretched out next to Jon, pressing against his side.  Patrick laid his head on Jon’s shoulder.  He never said a word, and neither did Jon.  He just let Patrick relax into him. 

When Sharpy checked on them a short time later, they were still lying together, sound asleep.


	16. Signs of Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You can skate if you want. I’ll just sit over here and watch.” Patrick replied.
> 
> “I know. But I just thought maybe you’d like to get on the ice.”
> 
> Patrick watched Sharpy skating around the rink, Maddie gigglng and squirming in his arms. Some of the older kids had on their hockey gear and wear shooting pucks or playing some shinny at one end. They all looked like they were having a good time.
> 
> “Okay.” Patrick said.
> 
> “Yeah?”
> 
> “Yeah.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let the healing begin...

The first couple of weeks are hard.  Patrick starts therapy.  He spends his days at Patrick’s Place when Jon is on a road trip the second week.  Jason and the others are comforting, nonjudgmental in Patrick’s mind.  While he’s with them, he can relax.  Around Jon, the Sharps, and his teammates, he’s tense, sullen, withdrawn, sure in his belief that they think the worst of him for what happened, for what he did.

Jon goes back to practice and playing sooner than planned, because Patrick insists.  Jon also starts therapy, because Stan insists.  Both boys have their own trauma and issues to deal with as a result of what happened.

Abby organizes a birthday party for him because the Hawks have an off day at home two days before his birthday.  They’ll leave on an extended road trip the day after the party.  Jon hopes Patrick will want to travel with them.  He asks.  Patrick declines.

 The party is going well, Jon thinks.  Patrick had been visiting with people, albeit he had stayed plastered to Jon’s side the whole time.  Jon had managed to slip away from Patrick for a few minutes when Patrick was talking to Q and his wife.  When Jon returned, though, Patrick was nowhere to be found.

Jon located him in the master bath, on his knees, bent over the toilet bowl.  He was white as a ghost and sweating as he heaved his lunch into the bowl.  Jon held his head, then got him a cool wash cloth once Patrick was done.  The two of them sat on the floor, Patrick’s back to Jon’s chest.  Jon held the wash cloth on Patrick’s forehead.  Patrick sobbed quietly, saying over and over again that he was sorry.  Jon just held him and kept telling him he didn’t need to be sorry.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

When Jon got back from the long trip, he and Patrick moved back to their house.  Jon didn’t like the thought of leaving Patrick alone while he was at practice or games, and they had several road games in December.  He repeatedly asked Patrick if he’d come to practice.  Patrick repeatedly passed.

Two weeks before Christmas, the Hawks had their family skate, slash Christmas party, at the United Center.  Patrick surprised Jon the day before the party.

“I think I’d like to try and go to the party tomorrow.”  Patrick asked while they were decorating their tree.  “If that’s okay with you.”

“Of course it is, Peeks.  Everybody will be so happy to see you.  They’ve all been asking if we were coming.”  Jon smiled at him.

Patrick picked up an ornament out of the box, carefully unwrapping the tissue paper protecting it.  He held the ornament up to Jon who was standing on a stool to be able to reach the top of the tree.

“Seems like forever ago that I gave you this.”  Patrick heaved a sigh.  “Another lifetime.”

Jon took the ornament, a star made out of small sticks with a piece of polished lake glass suspended in the center.  The present Patrick had given him their first Christmas together, when they were still just friends.

“It does seem like a long time ago, now, doesn’t it?”  Jon agrees.

He hangs the ornament and glances down at Patrick, who has tears in his eyes.

“Peeks?”

Patrick snaps out of his thoughts, quickly wiping at his eyes.  He turns and goes to get another ornament.  Jon steps down and follows him, stepping behind him and wrapping his arms around Patrick.  He puts his head on Patrick’s shoulder.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”  Patrick wipes his eyes again, then reaches for an ornament.

Jon takes it from his hands and then guides Patrick to the couch.  He sits down and gets Patrick to sit across his lap.  Patrick leans into Jon, resting his head on Jon’s shoulder. 

“Do you love me?”  Patrick whispers.

“Of course I do.  That’s a silly question, Patrick.”

“Why?”

“Why is it a silly question?  Because…”

“No.  Why do you love me?  I mean, how can you…”  Patrick’s speaking so quietly into Jon’s chest that Jon strains to hear him, even as close as he is.  “How can you still love me?”

“Patrick, how could I not love you?”

“We don’t… we haven’t…”  Patrick lifted his head and looked at Jon.  “I can’t even let you kiss me.”

That was true.  Patrick had been back for a little over a month.  He still had frequent nightmares, when he slept anyway.  He didn’t sleep much.  He was nervous around other people, so he avoided the team and their friends, except for Jason and his crew, and Abby and Sharpy.  He didn’t go out in public, except to go to Patrick’s Place.  There were times, like this, when he could let Jon touch him, hold him, be close to him.  There were more times that he pulled away or was tense and stiff when Jon touched him.  He let Jon kiss him on the cheek, or the forehead, but never on the mouth. 

“Not a problem.  Whenever you’re ready to, whenever you’re comfortable with it.  It’ll happen.  I can wait, Patrick.  Cause I do love you.  I love you.  That’s… well, that’s all just a bonus for getting to love you.”  Jon said, rubbing his hand on Patrick’s back as long as Patrick was letting him.

“What if…”  Patrick’s nervousness makes his voice shaky.  “What if I can’t ever…”

“Then we don’t.  Not a problem.”  Jon brushed his lips on Patrick’s forehead and felt his body shudder.  “It’ll be okay no matter what, Patrick.”

“Do you…”  Patrick buried his face into Jon’s chest.  “Do you hate me?”

Jon froze, trying not to tense or even recoil from Patrick’s question.  It had taken him completely off-guard.  In the past few weeks, he and Patrick had talked about a lot of things, but not Patrick’s abduction or what had happened to Jon.  Jon’s asked his therapist about it, about Patrick’s detachment, disconnection maybe, from him, from their relationship.  About Patrick’s unwillingness to discuss things with Jon.  And now, out of the blue, Patrick may be ready to talk. 

Jon’s first impulse was to tell Patrick that was an absurd question.  To ask him how he could ever think that Jon could hate him.  He knew he couldn’t do that, though.  What did the therapist say about this?  Don’t question his feelings.  Accept them as real.  He’s going to think wild thoughts about things.  Patrick may feel shame.  He may feel guilt.  He may not be thinking rationally at times.  Let him.  Reassure him.  Be honest with him.

“I could never hate you.”

“But, you could have… he could have killed you.  Because of me.”

“But he didn’t.  And him attacking me, it was because of him Patrick.  Because he had problems.  He needed help, Patrick.  It’s too bad that he didn’t get it, that he managed to escape and came after you.  But none of that, I mean none of it, was your fault.”

“How can you… how can you want to be with me?  After what he did to me.”

“I knew what he did before, when you were with him before you came to Chicago and that didn’t make any difference to me.  What happened doesn’t matter, Peeks.  It happened.  I still love you.  I still want to be with you.  But if you can’t, that’s okay.  We just won’t have that in our relationship.  But, we’ll still have each other anyway.  Right?”

“I guess.”  Patrick shrugged.  “But…”

“But what?”

“I killed him.  I’m… I’m…”  Patrick sniffled.  “What I did.  Jonny, I was so… I just… I kept stabbing him.  I was screaming at him.  The knife kept… “

Patrick covered his face with his hands.

“Patrick, oh Patrick.”  Jon whispered into the top of Patrick’s head.  He instinctively hugged Patrick, pulling him tight against his chest. 

Patrick didn’t pull away.

“It was worse than before.”  Patrick said into his hands.  “Oh, Jonny.  It was…”

“I know.  But it’s over.”  Jon tried to keep his voice even, calm.  “You’re back with me, with everyone who loves you, the guys, my family.  That’s all that matters, Patrick.  That’s all anybody cares about.  That you’re safe and you’re here with us.”

Patrick’s body shook as the sobbing became more pronounced, as Patrick began to cry more.  He turned his face to Jon’s chest again, and managed to wrap his arms around Jon.  And there Patrick sat, and let himself be safe in Jon’s arms again, just as he had that first day in the hospital.

And Jon?  Jon felt a sense of relief, a feeling he that had been festering just under the surface but couldn’t break through.  Since Patrick’s return, he’d been worried that they wouldn’t be okay.  That Patrick wouldn’t be okay.  But now, he might let himself start believing that he and Patrick would be okay.  This was a start.  Patrick opening up, even this little bit, was a start.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Patrick stood quietly beside Jon.  Well, not beside as much as tucked just behind him.  One hand was holding Jon’s hand, squeezing tight enough that Jon had winced in pain a few times.  The other was on Jon’s upper arm, holding on to him like a life preserver. 

They visited.  Played with all the kids.  Patrick even helped Jon, and Santa, hand out presents.  Jon got Patrick to eat something, mostly cookies, but at least he ate.  They were standing behind the benches watching the family skate.

“You wanna lace ‘em up?”  Jon asked.  Patrick hadn’t skated since he’d been back.

Patrick shook his head.

“Okay.”  Jon sounded disappointed.

“You can skate if you want.  I’ll just sit over here and watch.”  Patrick replied.

“I know.  But I just thought maybe you’d like to get on the ice.”

Patrick watched Sharpy skating around the rink, Maddie gigglng and squirming in his arms.  Some of the older kids had on their hockey gear and wear shooting pucks or playing some shinny at one end.  They all looked like they were having a good time.

“Okay.”  Patrick said.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

They disappeared into the locker room for a few minutes, then returned with their skates on.  Jon had slipped his sweater on, but Patrick still wore just his regular clothes.  Patrick held on to Jon’s hand as he stepped onto the ice. 

His mind was racing.  He kept his head down, avoiding looking at anyone.  He was sure they were all staring at him.

“Hey, Peeks!”  Sharpy skated up to them.  “Maddie wants to skate with her Uncle Patrick.”

Patrick raised his head slowly.  “I don’t think…”

“Oh yes you do.  Here.”  Sharpy handed his daughter to Patrick, which made him have to let go of Jon’s hand.  “She likes to go fast.”

“Then why’d you give her to Patrick?”  Jon chirped.

“Funny.  Ha ha.”  Patrick smirked.  “Okay.  I guess we can go fast.”

Patrick skated away from them, letting himself pick up speed at he went.  The feel of the ice beneath him.  The cool air blowing past his face.  The sound of the blades scraping the ice with each stride.  All of it familiar.  All of it… comforting.  He’d missed this.  He missed the feeling of freedom.  The feeling of power starting in his legs and working up through his body as he pushed into each stride, harder and faster.

Maddie laughed loudly and squealed, as Patrick wove in and around some of the others on the ice.  They made two laps before gliding up to Jon and Sharpy.  Patrick gracefully did a few spins with Maddie which delighted her even more.  When he came to a halt, he was breathing hard, his cheeks rosy from the exertion, his eyes bright and happy, a wide grin on his face.

For weeks, Jon had seen a different face.  Emotionless, dull eyes.  Pale skin drawn tight over his features. Lips pressed together, unsmiling.  Lifeless.

As he looked at Patrick, his hope from yesterday swelled in his chest.  For the first time in weeks, Patrick looked… alive.


	17. The Truth Comes Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Maybe. But, he keeps talking about me playing again. Like, saying, when you get back we’re gonna kick ass, and I can’t wait to for you to be out there with me again, and… well, just stuff like that.”
> 
> “He missed you so much. It was so hard for him to play because all he could do was worry about you. I think he just feels like it will really be over and okay when you're back on the ice with him.”
> 
> “What if I can’t do that? What if I never play again?” Patrick whispered, tucking his head down to the chest even more, curling in on himself, trying to shrink away from her.

The boys flew to Vancouver on Christmas Eve to spend the holiday break with their family.  Because of the Hawks schedule, they got a four day break instead of just the normal three.  It would be the first time Patrick would see any of them since his kidnapping.  He was scared to death.

Bryan and Andrée picked them up at the airport, and the ride to the house was filled with pleasant chit chat.  For their part, Jon’s parents didn’t ask any questions about Patrick’s ordeal or how he was doing now.  They chatted about Christmas, and decorating, and the big dinner Andrée had planned for Christmas Day.  Jon held Patrick’s hand the whole way home, which also helped alleviate Patrick’s fears.

David was on his best behavior, too, having been warned by Jon.  He even gave up his spot on the couch to Patrick, who gave him a mildly shocked look.  After sitting in the living room drinking hot chocolate and talking about the most mundane things, it was almost more than Patrick could take.  Them not asking about anything felt worse than if they’d just come out and say something about what happened.  Patrick grew more nervous as their avoidance went on.

He fidgeted in his seat.  He tugged at his shirt.  He rubbed his hands on his thighs.  He repeatedly combed his fingers through his hair. He nearly dumped his hot chocolate twice.

“Don’t you want to know about what happened?”  Patrick blurted out as Bryan was talking about getting a living tree for the fourth or fifth time.  “Don’t you want to know all about how I killed him?”

“Patrick.”  Jon said, stunned by the out-burst. 

“I can see it Jonny.  All over their faces.  In their eyes.  It’s just like everyone else.”  Patrick jumped up off the couch and bolted down the hall.  Jon heard the bedroom door slam.

“I’m sorry.”  Jon ducked his chin to his chest, his face flushed with embarrassment.  “I thought it would be better if…”

“Oh, honey.  It’s okay.”  His mother said as she stood up.

Jon started to stand as well, but she motioned him to stay. 

“Let me go talk to him.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Andrée knocked on the bedroom door, then opened it slowly, stepped in and closed it behind her.  Patrick was on the bed, lying on his stomach, his head buried under a pillow.  She went and sat on the bed next to him. 

“Patrick, dear, we’re sorry.  We just figured you’d like to be able to come home and have a few days where you didn’t have to talk or think about what happened.  Where you could just be with us and get away from everything.”

Quiet sobbing filtered out from under the pillow.  Andrée lightly touched Patrick’s back.  When he didn’t jerk away, she ran her hand over his back and shoulders.  Gently.  Comfortingly.  Motherly.

“When you said we were like everyone else, what did you mean?  Can you tell me?”  The sound of her voice, the French accent giving her words a softness, had a calming effect.

It took a minute, and she waited patiently, letting Patrick decide if he wanted to talk.  He pulled his head out from under the pillow and laid it down on top.  He kept his face turned away from her, though.

“People look at me like, I don’t know, like there’s something wrong with me.  Or, they’re thinking things…” He sniffled.

“Like what?”

“Like I did something wrong.  Like everything he did to me was my fault, or I, or I wanted him to do that to me.  And then, because I, because I killed him they’re all judging me for that, too.  It’s like I’m, I don’t know, dirty or sick or crazy because of what happened, because of what I went through.”

“Patrick, I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry if we made you feel that way.  We don’t think any of that.  Jonny certainly doesn’t think that way.  We just thought it would upset you having to talk about it.”

Patrick turned his head to face her, his cheeks wet with tears.  Andrée smiled at him and reached up to brush his curls back off his forehead.

“We love you.  We all know what you went through because of him before, remember?  And none of us, not Bryan, not David, and certainly not me, are going to think any less of you because of what happened.”

“I know.”  Patrick said between sobs.  “I’ve been trying.  But it’s hard, it’s hard not to think that way.  And sometimes, I don’t know, I just don’t think I can be who I’m supposed to be.”

“Who you’re supposed to be?”  She furrowed her brow.  “I don’t understand that.”

“I’m not sure how to act.  Like everyone expects me to just be the same Patrick and I don’t know, I don’t know if I can do that.”

“No one expects you to just be okay right away, Patrick.  They know that it’s going to take time.”

Patrick shrugged his shoulders, and wiped his eyes.  He had his crying mostly under control.

“Do you want to talk to me about it?  Tell me what you’re thinking about?”  She asked, guessing at the underlying meaning of his words.  “I could help you explain to Jonny.  If you want.”

Patrick shook his head slowly. 

“Okay, not right now.  But I’m here to listen when you’re ready.”

There was a knock at the door, then Jon was asking if Patrick was okay and if he could come in.  Patrick nodded and Andrée told Jon it was okay.  She stood up when Jon opened the door and stepped in to the bedroom. 

“You must be tired from your flight, too.  Why don’t you boys take a nap and then we’ll have dinner when you wake up.  I think there may even be a special Christmas Eve present out there for each of you.”  She bent down and kissed Patrick on the forehead.

“Je t’aime, Patrick.”

“Je t’aime, Maman.”  Patrick whispered back.

Andrée gave Jon a hug and kiss on the cheek and told him she loved him, too, before she left.  Jon laid down next to Patrick.

“I’m sorry.  I shouldn’t have told them not to say anything.  That made it worse, didn’t it?”

“S’okay.”  Patrick shifted so he could rest his head on Jon’s chest.  “It’s just been a long day.  The people on the plane and all.  I’m just tired.”

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------

When they get up from their nap, Patrick is feeling better.  They have dinner and then head to the living room to watch Christmas shows.  Before that, though, Andrée pulled out five boxes from under the tree.  She handed one to each of the guys and sat down with the fifth one on her lap.

“Everyone gets to open one present tonight.”  She says happily.  “So, go ahead.”

She and Bryan watch as the boys all cautiously open their presents.  Patrick is the first to pull the top off his box after he’s ripped the paper away.  He looks up at Andrée and Bryan with a big grin on his face.  Jon and David get their boxes open next.

“Pajamas, Maman?”  Jon runs his hand over the material.

“You used to love getting pajamas for Christmas, honey.”

“I did, I mean, I do.  We just haven’t gotten them in a while.”  Jon grinned.  “I thought you thought we were too old for them now.”

“These are awesome!”  Patrick exclaimed, pulling the plush sleep pants out of the box and holding them up.  “Thank you!”

“Are you too old, Jonathan?”  Andrée raised an eyebrow at her oldest son.

“Never!”  Jon laughed, watching how happy Patrick and David were with their gifts.

Patrick had gotten Buffalo Sabres plush sleep pants and a matching blue Henley shirt.  Jon lifted his out of the box, Blackhawks pants and a red Henley.  David got the Canucks and a shirt that matched the green in their logo.  He was grinning as wide as Jon and Patrick.

Bryan and Andrée opened their boxes.  They had bright red plush pants and red shirts.

“Mr. and Mrs. Claus, I presume.”  Patrick laughed.

“Of course.  We thought we’d start the tradition back up, if you boys like.”  Bryan stated.

“Oui, Maman.  Oui, Papa.”  Jon said.  “Merci.”

“Oui.  Merci, Maman.  Papa.”  David echoed.

“This is great.  Thank you.”  Patrick added.

“Okay.  Go change and come back so we can watch the shows.  Patrick, what do you want to watch first?”  Andrée asked.

“The Grinch, please.  The cartoon, not the movie.  It’s always been my favorite.”

“Okay.  Then David’s pick.”

“Um, Rudolph, please.”  David said as he got up to go put on his new pajamas.

“And, Jonny?  A Charlie Brown Christmas I’m guessing?”

“Oui, Maman.” Jon laughs.

When they all get back, Patrick sits next to Jon on the couch, leaning on Jon’s shoulder with their hands laced together on Jon’s lap.  His whole demeanor different from earlier, he’s relaxed and even seemed happy.   God bless his mother and whatever she said to Patrick, Jon thought.  He only hoped this lasted through the rest of the holiday.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Christmas Day is a big deal at the Toews house.  The morning is spent opening presents.  Tons of presents, Patrick has learned since becoming a part of the family.  That was followed by what could only be called a feast.  Turkey, ham, all the fixings, numerous salads and side dishes.  And then dessert.  After dinner, which was served early in the afternoon, it was nap time.  Then, the boys spent the evening playing video games.

Patrick had another good day, one of the best Christmases he could remember.

The next morning, however, he jolted awake, shaken out of a sound sleep by another violent nightmare.  He woke up in a cold sweat and slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Jon.  He wandered out to the kitchen after he’d gone to the bathroom.  There’s a light on.  He didn’t expect to find anyone there, but Andrée stands at the sink, her back to him.  He thinks about turning and going someplace else, but instead clears his throat and steps in to the room.

“I didn’t know anyone else was up, yet.”  Andrée says, looking over her shoulder at Patrick.

Patrick wanders over to the fridge and gets the orange juice out to pour himself a glass.  Once he does, he goes and sits at the table. 

“Want to talk about it?”  She asks softly, reaching for a towel to dry her hands.

“About what?”  Patrick takes a sip of juice.  He keeps his head down, staring at the table.

“Whatever nightmare chased you out of bed this early.”  She pours herself a cup of coffee and sits down at the table across from Patrick.  “Or, about what you aren’t telling Jon.”

Patrick glances up at her, the looks back down quickly.  His hands are trembling.

“It’s okay, if you don’t…”

“Jon’s been, Jon’s been great.”  Patrick interrupts her.  “He’s been great.”

“But?”

“He’s been trying to get me to go to practice with him.  Or to travel with the team.”

“I think he thinks that would be good for you.  To be around your friends.  I think so, too.”

“Maybe.  But, he keeps talking about me playing again.  Like, saying, when you get back we’re gonna kick ass, and I can’t wait to for you to be out there with me again, and… well, just stuff like that.”

“He missed you so much.  It was so hard for him to play because all he could do was worry about you.  I think he just feels like it will really be over and okay when you're back on the ice with him.”

“What if I can’t do that?  What if I never play again?”  Patrick whispered, tucking his head down to the chest even more, curling in on himself, trying to shrink away from her.

“Why wouldn’t you play again?  You just need to build your strength back up and…”

“No.  I mean, what if, what if I don’t want to play again?”  Patrick looks up.  His face pale and eyes glistening.  "I don't want to ever play hockey again."


	18. Baby Steps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I said I’m not giving up. I’m moving on. Hockey hasn’t been fun for me for a long time. I just played because Jonny wanted me to, not because I wanted to. So now I’m standing up for myself and I’m doing what I want to do.”
> 
> Sharpy looked Patrick in the eye, trying to read him. When Patrick had to look away, it told Sharpy what he needed to know. Patrick sounded like he meant what he said, but he was just doing a good job of trying to fool himself into believing it. If you say it enough times. If you say it loudly. It will become the truth. But Sharpy knew… it was a lie.
> 
> Sharpy knew Patrick loved hockey. Loved playing. Loved scoring. Loved just being out on the ice. He knew it was part of what helped Patrick before, right after the court proceedings with his coach and father. It had helped Patrick get back into life. Now he was saying he needed to walk away from that to move on? It just didn’t make any sense.

“I don’t understand.”  Duncs was lacing up his skates as he talked.  “You’re telling us that Peeks doesn’t want to come back?”

“That’s what he said.”  Brent says.  “I can’t believe it, though.”

“Just for this season, right?  He’ll come back next year.  Won’t he?”  Duncs sits up and stares across the room at Jon.

“I don’t think so.”  Jon says grimly, his face as serious as any of them have ever seen.  “He said he doesn’t ever want to play again.”

Jon stood, grabbed his helmet off its hook, and headed out to the ice for practice.

“Poor Jon.  It’s gotta be killin’ him that Patrick said that.”  Duncs says after Jon’s exit.  “All he talked about was having Peeks back with him, playing again.”

“All he talked about was having Peeks back.”  Sharpy corrected.

“And he has him back.  Maybe he’ll be okay with this.”  Brent stood up.

“But will Peeks be okay with it?”  Sharpy throws out to the room.  After practice, he needs to pay a visit to Patrick.

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“You’re on long-term IR, Peeks.  The Hawks aren’t going to try and rush you back.  All I’m saying is to not make any rash decisions.”

“It’s not rash.  It’s what I want.  How I feel.”  Patrick pushes the food around on his plate.

Sharpy had shown up after practice instead of Jon.  He’d brought spicy tacos, along with rice and beans, and chips and salsa.  All Patrick’s favorite things.  Sharpy had learned early on in their friendship the best way to get Patrick to open up about things.

“How do you feel?”

Patrick takes a bite of food.  “M’fine.” He says around it.

“Uh huh, right.  That’s why you don’t want to play again.  Or talk about it.  You’re fine.”

Patrick swallows that bite and goes to shove another in his mouth, but Sharpy reaches over and stops his hand.

“Talk to me.  Please.  You’ve avoided talking about what happened.  With me.  With Abby.  Have you even talked to Jon about what you went through?”

Patrick sat his fork down on his plate when Sharpy withdrew his hand.  Patrick nodded his head slowly, “Some of it.”

“Talk to me.”

“When I think of hockey, I think about him.”

“Okay.”

“But that’s not all.  I think about what people think about me.  All the fans.  What they must think.  And I can’t, I just can’t.”  Patrick covered his face with his hands.  “I can’t go out there and face all of that.”

“Right now.  You can’t do that right now.  You shouldn’t decide that it’s forever when you feel this way.  What’s your therapist say?”

“To do what is best for me.”

“Giving up is what’s best?”

“It’s not giving up.”  Patrick says under his breath.

“What?” 

Patrick looks up and stares squarely at Sharpy. 

“I said I’m not giving up.  I’m moving on.  Hockey hasn’t been fun for me for a long time.  I just played because Jonny wanted me to, not because I wanted to.  So now I’m standing up for myself and I’m doing what I want to do.”

Sharpy looked Patrick in the eye, trying to read him.  When Patrick had to look away, it told Sharpy what he needed to know.  Patrick sounded like he meant what he said, but he was just doing a good job of trying to fool himself into believing it.  If you say it enough times.  If you say it loudly.  It will become the truth.  But Sharpy knew… it was a lie.

Sharpy knew Patrick loved hockey.  Loved playing.  Loved scoring.  Loved just being out on the ice.  He knew it was part of what helped Patrick before, right after the court proceedings with his coach and father.  It had helped Patrick get back into life.  Now he was saying he needed to walk away from that to move on?  It just didn’t make any sense.

He thought about calling Patrick’s bluff, but hesitated.  He was out of his depth here.  Whatever Patrick had been through had deeply affected him, as was to be expected.  What was he feeling.  Shame.  Guilt.  His way of protecting himself was withdrawing.  Sharpy decided to let it drop for now.  He’d have to get help if he was going to help Patrick get through this without it destroying both Patrick and Jon.

Yes, Jon, too, he thought.  He’d seen Jon this morning when he’d told the team about Patrick’s decision.  Stoic Jon.  Captain Serious.  There had been a couple of brief moments when Jon had let his emotions slip out, but Sharpy had seen them for what they were.  A sadness in his eyes.  Slamming the roll of tape down on the bench.  Banging slap-shots at the glass instead of the net.

Jon wouldn’t say a word to Patrick about it though.  He would just push down his own emotions and be supportive of whatever Patrick decided.  It’s how this had changed Jon.  He had nearly lost Patrick.  He would not do anything that might make Patrick leave voluntarily.  So, if he didn’t do something, Sharpy would have to sit back as silent at Jon and watch this tear his boys apart.

That was not going to happen on his watch.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

New Year’s Eve, the Hawks had the night off in Chicago, with only a light practice and travel day scheduled for the next day.  That meant a team party at Stan’s to ring in the New Year.  Patrick lets Jon talk him into going.

He stays close to Jon, just as he had done at the Christmas party.  He laughs when he’s supposed to.  He nods at the appropriate times.  He smiles when he should.  But if you were to ask Patrick about anything anyone said all evening, he wouldn’t be able to tell you what was said. 

They count down to midnight with everyone, yell Happy New Year, and Jon gives him a kiss on the cheek.  Then they get hugs from teammates, kisses from girlfriends, wives, and others.  Patrick asks if they can go home a little after midnight, and Jon doesn’t argue. 

Jon unlocks the front door and pushes it open.  Patrick steps around him and in to the dark hallway.  Jon follows him, closing the door and locking it behind them.

“Turn the lights on, Peeks.”  Jon says, reaching for the switch.  Patrick’s hand comes up to take his, stopping him.

Patrick steps in close to Jon.  When their bodies meet, Jon can feel Patrick shaking.  Patrick’s breathing is shallow and uneven, all nerves on edge. 

“Are you okay?”  Jon asks, slipping his hands down to hold Patrick’s hips.

Patrick rests his hands on Jon’s chest, rubbing against the bulky material of his winter coat.  Jon feels more than sees Patrick roll up on the balls of his feet.  In the dark, Patrick presses his lips to Jon’s.  They are warm and soft, and Jon has missed kissing them.  Jon lets his own lips part slightly and licks over the bottom one when Patrick pulls back slightly, just the tips brushes against Patrick’s lips.  Patrick’s response is to lean back into Jon, to part his lips and deepen the next kiss.  A wave of heat and desire surge up from Jon’s gut.  Patrick, his Patrick is kissing him for the first time in months.

“Happy New Year, Jonny.”  Patrick said as he let himself drop down, placing his head on Jon’s chest.

“Happy New Year, Peeks.”  Jon responded.  “I love you, té bin nono.”

“I’m not an idiot.”  Patrick mumbled.

“How?”

“David.”

“Shit.”  Jon tried to pull back from Patrick.  “I need to yell at him, huh.”

“I don’t care.  I guess I said it wrong.”  Patrick snuggled in tighter, sliding his arms around Jon and holding on as if his life depended on it.

“What do you mean?”  Jon rubbed his hand on Patrick’s back, enjoying the closeness.

“I’m not an idiot.”  Patrick tipped his head back to look up at Jon.  “I’m your idiot.”

“Yes, you are.  My little idiot.”  Jon tipped his head down to kiss Patrick again.  Holding.  Kissing.  Wanting. 

Jon’s hands slipped down to Patrick’s ass.  Patrick tensed, but didn’t pull away.  Jon kissed him harder, eagerly.  He sucked at his bottom lip when he pulled back before diving right back in.  His mouth claimed Patrick’s with a need that Jon had been holding back.  By the time he moved to kiss along Patrick’s jaw and down the line of his neck, they were both breathing hard.  Jon’s hand came around and slipped between them.  He brushed over Patrick’s cock.

If Jon could have seen Patrick’s face clearly in the dark, he would have seen Patrick’s eyes go wide with fear, his face goes ashen as all the blood drained out.  While he can’t see, he can feel.  Patrick tenses, recoiling from Jon’s touch.  He dips his head, using it to push Jon away from his neck.  His hands, which had been clenching the material of Jon’s coat, were now pushing against it, trying to separate his body from Jon’s.

“No.  Don’t.”  Patrick squirmed back and forth, shoving at Jon.  “Don’t touch me.”

“Patrick, I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  It’s okay.”  Jon let go of Patrick, who staggered backwards, then turned and bolted down the hallway.

Jon stands there alone.  Shocked.  Confused.  His head bangs against the door when he tips it back.  He closes his eyes, trying to get himself under control and clear his head before he goes after Patrick.

When he finally makes his way down the hall and towards the stairs, he stoops to pick up Patrick’s clothes along the way.  His jacket dropped near the stairs.  His shoes kicked off at the top of the steps.  His shirt just inside the bedroom door.  His pants and underwear discarded by the foot of the bed.  The water is running in the bathroom.  Jon stands in front of the closed door for a few seconds, then he knocks softly.

“Are you okay?  Can I come in?”

A soft, almost defeated sounding ‘no’ comes from the other side.  Jon lets his forehead rest against the door.  He debates about just walking in anyway, but he can’t do that to Patrick.  He gives up, changes into some sweats and a t-shirt, and climbs into bed.  He lays facing away from the bathroom door.

It could have been a half-hour, an hour, or even longer that Jon waited for Patrick to come out.  He heard his soft footsteps pad across the floor and a dresser draw open and close a few seconds later.  After another couple of minutes, the mattress next to him dips as Patrick climbs into bed.

“Jonny?  You awake?”  He says quietly.

“Yeah.  You alright?”  Jon rolls over carefully, so he’s facing Patrick, who’s on his side, facing Jon already.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.  I shouldn’t have…”

“No.  I wanted you to… to kiss me… and hold me.  I did.  But, when you…”  Patrick stuttered, fighting back the panic that hung just below the surface as he tried to talk about what happened.  He swallowed hard and scooted himself over closer to Jon, angling his head so he could bring their mouth together in a soft kiss.  “Can we just… can we just try this?”

Jon brought his hand to Patrick’s cheek, cupping it gently, tracing his thumb along the cheekbone before brushing Patrick’s damp curls back.

“Whatever you want, Patrick.”  Jon said, lovingly. 

“This.  I want this.”  Patrick murmured, pressing in to the kiss again.

As Jon laid there kissing Patrick, his fears that he’d done too much subsided.  This was a move it the right direction, he thought.  One step at a time.  And, they may be baby steps, but at least they were headed forward, and not behind.


	19. On The Road With Goodie - Part I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where we headed?” He asked as he fastened his seatbelt and adjusted the strap.
> 
> “Philadelphia. Drop this load. We pick up a load there and haul it to New York City. After that, I don’t know yet.”
> 
> “Sounds like a plan.” Patrick smiled watching out his window as they pulled out of the truck plaza and made their way back to the highway.
> 
> As they left the Chicago area, Patrick listened to Goodie tell him more about what they were hauling. He didn’t think about Jon, or wonder about the all-star game.

The Hawks had been having a good season.  As they hit the all-star break, they were sitting in first place in the Central Division, second best record overall in the league.  They appeared to be a solid bet to win another Cup. 

In the month since Patrick had told Jon that he didn’t want to play hockey anymore, Jon had gotten him to come to practice a couple of times.  He’d yet to attend a game, though.  Jon has asked Patrick to go to the all-star game about a hundred times.  Patrick has other ideas about where he’d like to be.

“I’m going to call Goodie.”  He says over breakfast the day Jon is supposed to leave for the weekend.

Jon stops in mid-chew.  For a brief second, his surprise and hurt are evident in his expression before he gets himself steadied again.  He should have seen this coming.  Patrick’s become increasingly distant the last couple of weeks. 

Jon slowly chews his toast again, lowering his eyes to stare at his plate.

“You want to see if he’ll come for a visit while I’m gone?”

“Um, no.  I thought I’d like to go with him.”  Patrick’s voice is a little shaky.  He’s not sure how Jon is going to react.  “I just would like some time, Jon.  Away from everything.”

“Away from me, you mean.”

“I didn’t say that.  You’ll be off doing all-star shit, and then on the road for the week after the break.  Well, more like almost two weeks.  I just thought instead of hanging out here alone, ya know.”

“You could come with me.  For the road trip, too.  The guys would like it.”  Jon said, then added quietly, “I’d like it.”

“I’m sorry.”  Patrick stood up and took his plate to the garbage, dumping almost all his breakfast.  He doesn’t want to do this.  He has to do this.

He’s had the same discussion with Jon several times in the last month.  He’s also had it with Sharpy, Stan, Q, and just about everyone else on the team.  How hard was it to understand?  He was done with hockey.  He was done, and being around them… hurt.

He rinsed the plate and put it in the sink.  He stood with his arms braced against the counter, shoulder slumped forward, head down.  It just hurt.

“I can’t do this anymore, Jon.”  Patrick kept his back turned to Jon.  If he faced him, if he looked at him right now, he’d never be able to say what needed to be said.  “I’m leaving.  I’m gonna call Goodie and go with him.  I don’t know how long I’ll go for, or if…”

“Patrick, please.”  Jon pleaded.  “Please don’t.”

“Or if I’ll be back at all.”  Patrick said firmly.  He still couldn’t bring himself to look at Jon as he turned and fled the kitchen.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Patrick waits at the truck stop diner, having taken a taxi out there over an hour earlier.  Goodie said he’d be through the area today, on his way east.  Patrick watched the TV that was mounted on the wall at the far end of the counter.  The all-star game was on.  No one was paying much attention to the game.  He could ask them to turn to something else and no one would care.  Before he could, however, he heard a familiar voice.

“Patrick, boy.”

He slipped off the stool he was sitting on and crossed the several feet to Goodie.  The big man enveloped Patrick in his arms and held him tightly for several seconds.  Patrick felt his tension and fears start to ebb away.

“Thank you for coming.”  Patrick breathed into Goodie’s chest. 

“I told you I would.”  He took Patrick’s shoulders and held him out a ways so he could look him over.  “Still skinny as a rail, don’t nobody feed you?”

“I eat.”  Patrick laughed. 

“Not enough.  Speakin’ of, you had anything while you waited?”

“Just coffee.”

“Well then, I guess I best get a proper meal in you before we hit the road.  Come on, let’s sit in a booth.”  Goodie lead the way to one of the empty spots.  He sat down and slid in, Patrick sitting across the table from him.  “You get something good and filling.  I don’t know when we’ll stop again.”

“Yes, sir.”  Patrick just laughed at that.  Goodie always had plenty of food in the truck.  Sandwiches.  Chips.  Other snacks. Goodie liked to stop at least every other day for a good meal, too.  Sometimes breakfast, sometimes lunch or dinner.  It all depended on if he wanted to eat when he woke up from his rest stops or wait a little while.  But one thing was sure, Patrick would eat well while he was with him.

They both ordered the chicken and biscuits, with mashed potatoes.  Patrick got applesauce for a side and Goodie had a tossed salad.  When they were about half way through their meal, Patrick looked up, a mischievous glint in his eye that Goodie knew from their time together before.  He flagged down the waitress.

“What kinds of pie do you have today?”  He asked.  She smiled at Patrick and rattled off the list.  Dutch apple.  Graham cracker cream.  Lemon meringue.  Coconut cream.  Blueberry.  Pecan.

“Two slices of the pecan please.  Oh, and can we get a strawberry shake to go, too.”  Goodie ordered.

Patrick grinned happily as he finished his food.  He went to the restroom then waited outside for Goodie, who paid their bill and used the restroom himself.  Together they walked to the big rig.  Patrick climbed up in and settled himself in the passenger seat.  He tossed his duffle in the sleep compartment and put his shake in the cup holder.

“Where we headed?”  He asked as he fastened his seatbelt and adjusted the strap.

“Philadelphia.  Drop this load.  We pick up a load there and haul it to New York City.  After that, I don’t know yet.”

“Sounds like a plan.”  Patrick smiled watching out his window as they pulled out of the truck plaza and made their way back to the highway.

As they left the Chicago area, Patrick listened to Goodie tell him more about what they were hauling.  He didn’t think about Jon, or wonder about the all-star game. 

Goodie hadn’t asked him about hockey once, as if knowing that Patrick needed to not be questioned.  Goodie could wait.  He had a feeling Patrick would be with him for a while.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

It didn’t take as long as Goodie expected for Patrick to talk about what was bothering him.  Three days.  Just three days.

“I told them I was quitting hockey.”

“Okay.”  Goodie didn’t even flinch, just stared at the road ahead.

“They don’t understand.  They just keep pushing me to say that I just mean for this season.”

“Uh huh.”

“I think they expect me to just go back to the way things were.  Like nothing happened.”

“Could be.”

“Do you think I should quit?”

“You should do what you want to do.”  Goodie answered. 

“Ugh.”  Patrick groaned.  “I know that.  Right.  But like, do you think it’s the right thing?”

“It doesn’t matter what I think, Patrick.  Or what Jon thinks.  Or anyone else.”

 “So, you don’t think I should quit hockey?”

“I didn’t say that.”  Goodie finally cracked a smile.  “I said my opinion doesn’t matter.”

“I think it’s the right thing.”  Patrick professed.  “It is.”

“You don’t have to convince me.”  Goodie stated.  “So, you sayin’ it over and over, you tryin’ to convince yourself?”

“No.”  Patrick snapped.  Then he sat there thinking.

Patrick looked over at Goodie, who continued to watch the road ahead.  He studied him while they road in silence for a few minutes.  He hadn’t known Goodie for very long.  Yet, he felt completely at ease with him.  Goodie had never been anything but kind to Patrick.  That’s why Patrick thought Goodie would just tell him what he wanted to hear.

He wanted him to say this was the right decision. He wanted someone, anyone, to tell him that.  Didn’t he?

“Maybe.” Patrick whispered as he turned to look out the window again. 

As he watched the miles roll by over the next few days, Patrick thought about what he wanted his life to be.  What he really wanted.


	20. On The Road With Goodie - Part II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the hotel, they walk Jon to his room. He’s hoping Patrick will stay with him. Patrick, however, gives Jon a quick kiss and says goodnight. He looks back a couple of times as he follows Goodie back to the elevator. Jon smiles when Patrick gives him a little wave as he steps onto the elevator. Tired as he is from the game, and knowing he’s got another game the next day, Jon lays in bed thinking until the early morning hours. He had hoped to have breakfast with them, but plans have changed.
> 
> Goodie and Patrick aren’t staying for the game against the Devils, though. Goodie picked up a short haul to Baltimore, so they’ll be pulling out early in the morning. 
> 
> Patrick keeps Goodie up for a few hours talking, then he too lays in bed for hours thinking after Goodie falls asleep. Patrick’s mind is working overtime. It is telling him one thing, over and over and over. His problem is that his heart is telling him the complete opposite.

“You guys are kicking ass.”  Patrick said.  “Eight in a row.  Way to go, Jonny.”

“Thanks.  Knock on wood.”  Jon laughed.

“Sorry.  Hope I didn’t jinx it.  Yeah, knock on wood.”  Patrick laughed.

“So.  Where are you?”

“Texas.  Down near Corpus Christi.  We pick up a load tomorrow and haul it to Denver.  Then it’s a trip back to Philadelphia.”  Patrick told him.  “I’m seeing a lot more of the country than we do when we travel for games.  It’s been awesome.”

Patrick had been with Goodie for three weeks, nearly the entire month of February, so far.  This was only the second time he’d talked to Jon on the phone, even though he texted him at least once a day to tell him he was okay and where they were. 

“That’s great.  I’m glad you’re having fun.”  Jon tried to sound sincere. 

He missed Patrick.  Missed him more, maybe, than when he’d been kidnapped even.  He had just gotten Patrick back, and now it felt like he was losing him all over again.  What was worse, this seemed more permanent.  Jon had always held on to the belief that he’d get Patrick back when Bill Anderson had him.  Patrick would come home one day, he just felt it.  Now?  Now he is not so confident.  He doesn’t think Patrick will come back.

“When will you be in Philly?”  Jon asks.  “Do you have a date?”

“Let me check.”

Jon hears papers shuffling.

“We have to drop the load by the 28th.  Then we have a two day lay-over.”

“We play the Flyers on the 1st.  In Philadelphia.  Maybe, um, I could leave tickets for you and Goodie.  You could come to the game and we could get dinner after?  We’ll be staying overnight, cause it’s a back-to-back with New Jersey the next night.  Maybe you could come to both games even?”

There is a long silence from Patrick.

“Um, never mind.”  Jon says.  “It was just a thought.”

“No.  Uh, no.  I think.  Uh.  I think we could do that.  Goodie might like to see a game.  I don’t know if he’s ever been to one.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.  I’ll ask him.”

They chat about the weather.  About Jon’s family and what they have been doing.  About some of the places Patrick has seen with Goodie.  About a lot of things.  But not about Patrick coming home.  Not about Patrick playing hockey.  Not about Patrick and Jon.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Do you want to go?”  Goodie asked as he sat his coffee cup down.

Goodie had taken a little detour to get lunch before heading to Denver.  They were at this little hole in the wall restaurant just north of Laredo, in a little border town.  Goodie had gotten lost one time and stumbled across it.  It was the best homemade, authentic Mexican food he’d ever had in his life, so he needed to share it with Patrick.

“I guess it would be okay.”  Patrick looked over the menu.  He didn’t see anything that looked like the tacos he gets back in Chicago.  “What’s good here?  I mean, do they have tacos?  Just plain old tacos?”

“Yes, they have tacos, and they’re better than any of those things they call tacos in Chicago.”  Goodie chuckled.  “I’ll order us something, okay.  I’m sure you’ll like it alright.”

“Okay.”  Patrick smiled and laid the menu down.  “So.  You’ve never been to a hockey game?”

“Was never much interested in it ‘til I met you.  Watched a few games on TV since then.  Never been to a game.” 

The waitress came over and took their order.  Patrick wasn’t sure what he was getting, but he trusted Goodie.

“So, what’s it like?  Watchin’ a game in person?”  Goodie continued their conversation.

“Hockey?  It’s a lot different than it is on TV.  I think it’s easier to track the puck in person.”

“I’d bet it’s a lot easier for you to follow the puck.  I’m not so sure I’ll be able to.”  Goodie chuckled. 

“In person, you can hear all the sounds.  The skates on the ice.  The puck hitting the glass or boards hard.  Depending on where you sit, you can hear the guys yelling at each other, or the guys on the bench yelling.”  Patrick’s eyes lit up, a smile on his face, as he talked about hockey.

“What’s it like playin’?”

“I don’t know.  You played football.  I guess it’s like that.”  Some of the light went out of Patrick’s eyes.

“I don’t think football is like hockey, Patrick boy.”  Goodie said.

“I just meant that playing sports is playing sports.” 

“What was it like for you playin’?  What made you pick hockey?”

“I’m from Buffalo,” Patrick smiled again.  “That’s practically Canada.”

Goodie chuckled.  “I see.”

Their food arrived and Patrick eyed the plate the waitress sat in front of him.  It looked like it was maybe tacos, but with soft, grilled, corn tortillas.  The toppings weren’t what he expected either.  Cilantro, diced onions, and on the side for him to add was some sort of green, tomatillo sauce.  There were also lime slices on the side.  He looked up at Goodie.

“Chicken tacos.”  Goodie offered.  “I hope that’s okay.”

Patrick nodded.  “They look different, but good.”

“Make sure you add some of the sauce and squeeze a lime over the meat.  It makes all the difference.”

Patrick fixed his first taco and cautiously took a bite. 

“Mmmmm.” He hummed happily and took another bite.

“I’m guessin’ that means you like it?”

Patrick nodded quickly.  “It’s really good.” 

They ate in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the food.  Goodie finally went back to their conversation and the question Patrick had avoided.

“So, what did you like about playing hockey?  You didn’t finish tellin’ me.”

“I don’t know.”  Patrick shrugged.  “I liked skating.  That sound I said, skates on the ice. Feeling the ice under your skates.  Feeling the wind on your face.  I liked scoring.  Beating a goalie.  There was just a lot.  I’m not the fastest guy running, or the biggest guy, to be able to play football, or basketball, or some other sport.  But on the ice, on skates, I was faster than most guys.  And you don’t have to be the biggest guy to be able to score.”

Patrick kept talking for another twenty minutes as they finished their meal.  The more he talked, the more passionate he sounded about hockey.

“You love playing hockey.”

“At one time, I guess.”  Patrick sighed.  “I don’t know now.”           

“Yes, you do.  Couldn’t you hear yourself?  People don’t talk about something the way you talk about hockey if they don’t love it, don’t have a fire in their blood for it.”

“I don’t want to play.”  Patrick said coldly.  “I don’t.”

“Okay.  That’s your choice, Patrick.  I just think you still love it.”

Goodie let the subject drop.  They ordered dessert and talked about the route they wanted to take to Denver.  But Goodie had planted the seed in Patrick’s head.  He could tell Patrick was thinking about the fact that he did still love hockey.

In fact, he could tell Patrick was thinking about it the whole way across the country.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Patrick and Goodie pick up the tickets left by Jon at customer service.  Patrick made it clear that he didn’t want any special treatment and he didn’t want to see any of the team.  The tickets are tenth row back behind the goal that the Hawks will attack twice.  They get some food and drinks and take them to their seats to eat.

Thankfully the Hawks warm-up at the other end and Patrick doesn’t have to worry about any of them seeing him right away.  He hopes that they’re all to wrapped up in the game to notice him later.  He knows that doesn’t always happen.  Crow has a tendency to scan the crowd during breaks in play for TV time-outs. 

He’s wearing a Hawks sweater.  One of Jonny’s.  Goodie picked up one of Patrick Sharp’s when they went through Chicago.  He told Patrick it was so he could be neutral and not show favoritism to either Patrick or Jon.

Patrick got into the game.  Yelling at bad calls.  Screaming at close shots.  Telling Goodie about every penalty.  When Jon scored late in the third to give the Hawks the lead, Patrick came out of his seat to cheer.  Jon, who’d found him earlier, pointed at him with his stick as he cellied. 

After the game, Patrick and Goodie are escorted down to the Hawks locker room, where they wait outside for Jon.  They stand in an out-of-the-way spot where most of the guys don’t notice them as they head to the bus.  Of course, because of media, Jon is one of the last players out.

“Hey, Goodie.”  Jon says, holding his hand out. 

“Jon.  Great game.”  Goodie pulls him in to a big bear hug.

Jon waits for Patrick to step to him for a hug, and when he does, Jon pulls him tight and holds on for several minutes.

“Miss you.”  He whispers in to Patrick’s ear, as he reluctantly let go of him.

“Me too.”  Patrick whispers.

Dinner is at a restaurant not too far from the hotel where the Hawks are staying.  They take a car service, from the Wells Fargo Center and then can walk to the hotel after dinner.  Patrick and Goodie are staying at the same hotel.

The talk at dinner doesn’t amount to much.  Mostly Jon listens to Patrick and Goodie talk about their adventures.  The atmosphere is not what Jon would call relaxed, but it’s not as strained as he expected it to be either.  As they walk to the hotel, Jon is encouraged when Patrick sides up next to him and takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. 

At the hotel, they walk Jon to his room.  He’s hoping Patrick will stay with him.  Patrick, however, gives Jon a quick kiss and says goodnight.  He looks back a couple of times as he follows Goodie back to the elevator.  Jon smiles when Patrick gives him a little wave as he steps onto the elevator.  Tired as he is from the game, and knowing he’s got another game the next day, Jon lays in bed thinking until the early morning hours.  He had hoped to have breakfast with them, but plans have changed.

Goodie and Patrick aren’t staying for the game against the Devils, though.  Goodie picked up a short haul to Baltimore, so they’ll be pulling out early in the morning.  

Patrick keeps Goodie up for a few hours talking, then he too lays in bed for hours thinking after Goodie falls asleep.  Patrick’s mind is working overtime.  It is telling him one thing, over and over and over.  His problem is that his heart is telling him the complete opposite.

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The next night, the Hawks beat the Devils soundly, 5-1.  Jon goes through all his post-game routines and does his media obligations.  He’s sitting in his stall after changing, his head in his hands.  He feels worn out, defeated.  Patrick hadn’t even called or texted to say good-bye this morning. 

“Hey, bud.”  Sharpy says, laying a hand on Jon’s shoulder.  “Time to get out of here.  Got a plane to catch.”

“Yeah.  Okay.”  Jon stands, slips his suit jacket on, and follows Sharpy out of the locker room.  He’s looking down at the ground and runs into Sharpy’s back when he stops suddenly in front of Jon.  “What the hell, Pat.”

“Yeah.  Exactly.”  Sharpy says.

“What?”  Jon looks around Sharpy.

Patrick is standing in the hallway, his duffle bag slung over his shoulder.  Jon takes a sharp breath.

“Hey, Peeks.”  Sharpy smiles.  He turns to look at Jon, who still has a stunned expression on his face.  “I’ll hold the bus for you guys.”

Sharpy walks past Patrick and pats him on the shoulder.

“What?  What’s this?”  Jon asks as he finally finds the ability to walk and talk again.

“I was wondering if you thought maybe you could pull some strings and I could catch a ride back to Chicago?”

Jon barely let Patrick finish his question before Jon had thrown his arms around him and pulled him into a deep kiss.


	21. Té bin nono

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As they walk up the stairs hand-in-hand, Jon chuckles to himself.
> 
> “What’s so funny?” Patrick asks.
> 
> “You thought getting me to yell at you was the answer to things? Who told you that’d work?”
> 
> “Goodie.” Patrick laughed. “And Sharpy.”
> 
> “And you trusted them?”
> 
> “Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

“I’m back, but it hasn’t changed how I feel, Jon.”  Patrick sounds more confident, more sure of himself than he has.  “I don’t want to play hockey.”

“But I thought?  Goodie said?”  Jon throws up his arms in exasperation and stomps across the room, dropping down onto the couch with a thump.  He picks up a pillow and buries his face in it.

And yells.

Patrick walks over to him and tugs the pillow away.

“Yell at me.”

“What? No. I’m not gonna yell at you.”  Jon protests, trying to grab the pillow.

“You’re mad at me.  So, fucking yell.”

“I’m not mad at you, Peeks.”  Jon snaps, but the fire in his eyes betrays his feelings. “I just don’t fucking understand how you can say you never want to play hockey again.  Ever.  I’m… I’m… I don’t know what the hell I am.”

“Pissed.  You’re pissed.”  Patrick pushes.  “You’re allowed to be pissed.”

“No, I’m not.”  Jon answers, barely loud enough for Patrick to hear.

Patrick hits him with the pillow.

“Ow!  What the fuck?”

“In the past week, everyone, well almost everyone, has yelled at me.  Sharpy.  Crow.  Duncs.  Seabs.  Hammer.  Fuck, even Q yelled at me.  So, go ahead.  Yell.”  Patrick hit him with the pillow again.  “Come on, you know you want to.”

“I’m not gonna yell at you, Peeks.”  Jon grabbed at the pillow.  “Just stop.”

Patrick kept swinging the pillow at Jon.  Jon keeps his hands up, trying to fend off the blows.

“You know…”  Whack to the head.

“You want to…”  Whack to the side.

“Yell, Jonny…”  Whack to the head.

“Get mad…”  Whack to the arm.

Jon manages to grab the pillow and yanks it out of Patrick’s hands.  He tosses it on the other end of the couch.  Patrick puts his hands on his hips and stands there, glaring down at Jon who won’t look up at him.

“You have to be mad at me.”  Patrick says.  “So why won’t you yell at me?”

“You’ll leave.”  Jon replies, barely loud enough for Patrick to hear.  “You’ll just take off again.”

Patrick climbs onto Jon’s lap, his legs straddling Jon’s.  He drapes his arms over Jon’s shoulders and leans in so their foreheads touch.

“I’m not gonna run away again.  I promise.”  He kisses Jon’s nose, just a soft peck with his lips, then sits back.

“I thought I lost you,” Jon keeps his eyes down, focused on Patrick’s shirt.  “again.  I thought I lost you again, Peeks.  I don’t think I can take much more.  I just want things to be the way they were.”

“Okay.  I get that.” 

“Then why don’t you want to play hockey?”  The words come out in a quick rush.  Almost in a biting tone, as close to yelling at Patrick that Jon has come. Jon tips his head up and stares into Patrick’s eyes.  Jon’s are dark, brooding, unlike anything Patrick has ever seen in Jon’s expression.

“That was good.”  Patrick smiles at him.  “Almost had it.”

“Fuck you.”  Jon swears.  He pushes Patrick off his lap.  Patrick lands on the floor with an unceremonious thud. 

“Ow!”  Patrick feigns being hurt, then adds in a sarcastic tone.  “That was even better.  Come on, you wanna hit me.  Don’t you?”

“Jesus Christ, Patrick.  What the fuck?  You want a fight?  You want me to yell and scream.  You want me to hit you?”

“No.  But I want you to show some god damn emotions around me.  You’ve been walking around like I’m gonna break or something, ever since I got back.  You won’t argue about anything.  Nothing, Jonny.  We play video games, you let me win.”

Jon goes to protest, but Patrick cuts him off.

“Don’t tell me you don’t.  When was the last time before I came back that I could beat you in Call of Duty?  Huh, yeah.  Look guilty.  You let me win.  You don’t raise your voice when I do something that upsets you.  You haven’t called me a fucking idiot since we got home last November.  What the fuck?  So, get fucking mad at me, okay.  Yell.  Scream.  Do something.”

“You want me to get mad?”  Jon snaps.

“Yeah.”  Patrick taunts.  “Fuck yeah!”

Jon stands up, towering over Patrick.  His face is getting read.  He’s about to blow, Patrick waits for it.  And…

Jon steps over him and walks away.

Patrick jumps up and follows him.  Just as Jon gets to the stairs, Patrick shoves him square in the back, knocking Jon into the wall.

“Don’t you fucking walk away from me.”  Patrick jumped on Jon’s back, his arms tight around Jon’s neck nearly strangling him.

“Fuck!” Jon swore, his hands coming up to try and pry himself loose.  “Peeks, get off me.”

“Nope, Whatcha gonna do bout it?”  Patrick taunted.  He wasn’t sure what he was going to do if Jon really did fight back.  But he knew that he needed to get some reaction from him.  This was a little more than the ‘you need to talk to Jon’ advice from Goodie, and not quite the ‘just slap him upside the head’ advice he got from Sharpy. 

Of course, Sharpy didn’t tell him he’d given Jon the same advice.  Jon, however, didn’t think it was very good advice.

Jon elbowed Patrick in the side, not hard, more as a warning to let him go.  So, Patrick did.  Kind of.  He let go of Jon’s neck and slid down Jon’s back until his feet hit the ground, his arms encircling Jon’s waist.  He had one chance to get leverage.  On chance against Jon’s height and weight advantage.  Patrick planted his feet and fell backwards, pulling Jon with him.

They crashed to the floor, Jon’s weight landing full on Patrick.  As his breath rushed out, he had a momentary flashback to struggling with Anderson.  He shook his head to clear the images.

“Fuck, Patrick!  You trying to kill me?”  Jon swore, then he froze.  Wrong thing to say.  Wrong. Wrong. Wrong, his mind said.

Patrick let go and shoved at Jon’s back.  Jon rolled off him, landing on his own back on the floor.  Certain that he’d hurt Patrick with those words, brought back horrible images, Jon stopped fighting.  Patrick didn’t. 

Once out from underneath Jon, he scrambled on top of him, straddling his waist and sitting down hard, making Jon huff out a breath.  Patrick rocked up and sat back against Jon’s middle again.  He put his hands on Jon’s shoulders and pressed down as hard as he could.

“Patrick.”  Jon stammered.  “Get… ow fucker… get off me!”

“Are you mad yet?  Huh?  Gonna hit me yet?”  Patrick rocked up and sat down hard again. 

Jon brought his hands up between Patrick’s arms and knocked them away.  In one move, he grabbed Patrick’s shoulders and flipped them around, holding him down with his whole body stretched out on top of Patrick.  Their faces just inches apart, both breathing heavy from the exertion. 

They laid there on the floor, just breathing.

“I’m afraid of losing you.”  Jon said after a few minutes.  “I thought I lost you.  I’m been so scared of saying or doing something wrong.  That I’ll hurt you or make you leave.  After what you went through.  I just, I don’t know what to do, Patrick.”

“About what?”

“You’ve been different.  Distant at times.  You let me in for a brief second, then you shut me out again.  Like, about not wanting to play.  About how you feel.  All of it.  You just shut me out and took off with Goodie.”  Jon rolls off Patrick and lays on the floor next to him.  “You ran away.  Like before.  I just, I keep fucking up evidently and what’s gonna happen when you don’t come back the next time.”

“I’m not going to run away again.  I didn’t think of going with Goodie as running away.  I just needed to figure out what I want, what I really want.”

“If you don’t have hockey to keep you here, then how can I be sure…”

“Hockey?  You think hockey’s why I’m here, why I came back?  Why I stayed before?”

“Well, no.”  Jon answers, then hesitantly adds, “well… yes.”

Patrick sits up and carefully climbs on Jon, straddling his hips.  His hands rest on Jon’s chest.  Jon has his head dipped towards his chest, his eyes closed.

“Look at me, Jonny.”

Slowly Jon looks up into Patrick’s face. 

“Do you remember when we were first together, and I came back after I had taken off because I found out who you were?”

“Yeah, of course.  Why?”

“You were going to make me go to the police.  And I almost took off again, remember.”

“Yeah, Patrick, so?”

“What did I tell you?  Why did I say I came back?”

Jon stares up.  Patrick’s blue eyes are clear and sparkling, his cheeks flushed, his lips pursed in a smile.

“What did I tell you then?”

“You loved me.”  Jon whispers.

“I love you more now.”  Patrick leans forward and brushes his lips against Jon’s.  “Playing hockey doesn’t change that.  Not playing isn’t going to change that.  I love you.  I want to be here, with you.  You don’t need to worry.  I’m not going anywhere ever again.  I swear.”

Instead of sitting back, Patrick kisses Jon again, pressing his lips to Jon’s until Jon reacts and kisses him back.  Jon’s hands come up to hold Patrick’s shoulders as the kiss deepens, becoming more passionate, more frantic.

In seconds, Patrick is tugging at Jon’s shirt, working his hands under the material to get at Jon’s skin.  Jon is doing the same to Patrick’s shirt, pulling it up his back so that he can run his hands up and down Patrick’s spine.  When he runs his hands all the way down to cup Patrick’s ass, Patrick moans in his mouth. 

Jon’s hands come around and claw at Patrick’s belt, trying to undo it.  Patrick sits up and Jon groans in protest at the loss of his lips.  Patrick pulls his shirt over his head and reaches down to unhook his belt.  Jon gets the snap of his jeans undone and the zipper down.  His hand slides in the front of Patrick’s pants as Patrick leans back down to bring their mouths back together.

He palms over Patrick’s cock, which is hardening against his hand.  Patrick rolls his hips forward, pushing into Jon’s touch.  Patrick breaks their kiss and drops his head down beside Jon’s ear. 

“Jonny,” he breathes out, “oh fuck.  Please.”

Jon pulls his head away and Patrick whines low and soft.  Jon pushes him up and holds Patrick’s hips, urging him to move off Jon.  It’s a jumble of arms and legs shoving and pushing as clothes are shed.  Once they are tossed to the side, Patrick ends up on his back under Jon.

Jon rests on his elbows, arms under Patrick’s shoulders, hands under Patrick’s head.  Holding it as he kisses him.  Patrick’s legs encircle Jon’s hips, feet hooked over Jon’s ass, urging him as Jon rubs their hips together.  Their hard cocks, wet with precoma, slide against each other.  The friction causing a little bit of pain, and a lot of pleasure.

Patrick turns away from Jon’s kiss, his arms going around Jon’s neck to pull him down closer.  Patrick buries his face in the crook of Jon’s neck. 

“Jonny, please.  Jonny.”  He pleads, over and over.  “Please.”

Jon feels Patrick’s body shake, tensing and constricting beneath him.  He feels the warm liquid on his belly as Patrick comes.  It takes a little longer for Jon, he pushes his hips down, trying to get more pressure against his cock.  After another minute, he comes as well.

Patrick’s legs keep pulling on Jon as Jon comes, urging him to keep rolling their hips together, to keep going until Jon is spent and collapses against Patrick.  Both their bodies go lax.  The only sound in the room is their deep, heaving breaths. 

Then Jon hears the sobbing.

“Patrick?  Oh, Patrick, I’m sorry.”  Jon says.  He tries to pull up away from Patrick, but Patrick keeps his hold around Jon.

“No,” Patrick stutters between sobs.  “No.  Don’t let go, Jonny.”

“Okay.  Okay, Patrick.  I’ve got you.  I’m here.”

Jon’s not sure how long they stay that way.  Patrick’s arms around him, his face buried against Jon’s neck.  Patrick’s tears wet against his skin.  He lets his hands twist in Patrick’s hair, presses soft kisses to the side of Patrick’s head.  Eventually, Patrick’s sobbing slows and he eases his hold on Jon.

Jon rolls over off Patrick to lay on his back on the floor, Patrick rolls over and snuggles up against Jon.  His head rests on Jon’s chest, his arms tucked between them.  Jon slowly runs his hand up and down Patrick’s back, soothingly.

“This isn’t very comfortable.”  Jon says.

“Don’t care,” Patrick replies.

“I’m sorry.  We shouldn’t.  I shouldn’t have…”

“No.  It was… I’m good.”  Patrick kisses Jon’s chest lightly.  “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“Jonny?”

“Peeks?”

“How about we just say I’m not going to play this year?  But, maybe, I’ll come back next year?”

“Is that what you want?”

“I don’t know.  But.  Well.  It’s something we could both be okay with.  For now.  Right?”

“Yeah.  I guess so.  Okay.”

“Jonny?”

“Peeks?”

“You’re right.  This isn’t very comfortable.  Can we go up to bed?”

“Yeah, Peeks.  Let’s go to bed.”

“Um, well, not to bed.  Up to the bed.”  Patrick lifts his head, a smartass grin on his face.

“Oh, uh.  Yeah.”

As they walk up the stairs hand-in-hand, Jon chuckles to himself.

“What’s so funny?”  Patrick asks.

“You thought getting me to yell at you was the answer to things?  Who told you that’d work?”

“Goodie.”  Patrick laughed.  “And Sharpy.”

“And you trusted them?”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Patrick.”

“Jon.”

“Té bin nono.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so... there is definitely a similarity to things with this story and my OC fic... go figure.... similar, but different....
> 
> anyway... hope you like it... and where this is headed... 
> 
> thanks for reading.... comments and kudos always greatly appreciated...


	22. If Not Hockey... What?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People were walking up and down the sidewalks. Cars, buses, trucks all jammed up at the intersections. It was like this at the height of the work day commutes. It was the end of the work day now, people headed home or out for the evening. Patrick sighed as he watched the hustle and bustle.
> 
> “Patrick?”
> 
> “I want what they have.” 
> 
> “Who?”
> 
> “All those people down there. They get up. They go to work. They go home. Nobody notices. Nobody cares. They just have normal lives.”
> 
> “And you don’t have that?” Jason’s confused. “Because of hockey?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A short chapter...   
> Thank you for all the nice comments... always amazed when readers tell me how much this story means to them... glad I decided to write the sequels... cause... I a bit attached to these two as well now...

Jon and the Hawks were out of town for a week, so Patrick was hanging out over at the shelter.  He had something on his mind and he wanted to ask for Jason’s help.

“What do you want to do if you don’t play hockey?”  Jason looked across his desk where Patrick fidgeted in his chair.

“I have no idea.”

Patrick picked up the photo frame from the corner of Jason’s desk and turned it around to look at the picture.  It was a picture of Patrick with Jason and the others, his street family, with the Stanley Cup.  Patrick put it back on the desk and got up.  He walked to the windows and stood looking out at the city view below him. 

People were walking up and down the sidewalks.  Cars, buses, trucks all jammed up at the intersections.  It was like this at the height of the work day commutes.  It was the end of the work day now, people headed home or out for the evening.  Patrick sighed as he watched the hustle and bustle.

“Patrick?”

“I want what they have.” 

“Who?”

“All those people down there.  They get up.  They go to work.  They go home.  Nobody notices.  Nobody cares.  They just have normal lives.”

“And you don’t have that?”  Jason’s confused.  “Because of hockey?”

“Nope.”  Patrick comes back to sit in the chair on the other side of the desk from Jason.  He slouches down in it so his butt is barely on the seat and his head rests against the chairback.  “I’m Patrick Fucking Kane, the kid who got abducted by his deranged psycho coach.  The kid who killed his coach.”

“That’s not what people think.”

“That’s how I feel.”  Patrick grumbles.  “I feel it.  When people look at me.  Or talk to me.  Like they’re judging me.”

“So that’s why you want to quit?”

Patrick didn’t say yes, or no.  He dropped his gaze down to his lap.  “Maybe.”

“What would you do?  If you don’t play.”

“I thought, well, maybe, that I’d go school.  Get a degree.”

Jason nodded.  “That sounds interesting.  In what?”

Patrick shrugged.  “Haven’t thought that far.”

“Right.”  Jason smirked.  “Come on, you have too.”

“Business maybe?  Sports management?”  Patrick sits up and leans forward, his arms resting on his legs.  He clasps his hands together nervously.  “I was thinking.  Maybe I could work here, volunteer, ya know.  While I went to school.”

“You already volunteer when you can.”

“Yeah, I know.  But I mean, like, fulltime.  Like this would be my job but you wouldn’t have to pay me.”

“Considering how much you and Jon donate to this place, you’d be paying yourself.”  Jason chuckled.

He studied Patrick.  He’d always been able to read him, ever since they first met when Patrick had run away from his coach when he was just seventeen.  Patrick needed this.

“When do you want to start.”

“Tomorrow?”  Patrick said hopefully.  “Maybe you can help me look at schools?”

“Yeah.  We can figure out which college you want to apply to, or maybe you want to do online.  How bout we start with that.”  Jason stood up.  “Okay.  You want to go down and have dinner with the kids?”

“That’s why I’m here.”  Patrick jumped up.  “And, Jase.  Thanks.”

\--------------------------------------------------------

“College?  You want to go to college?”  Jon looked over the brochure Patrick had handed him.

“I filled out the admissions application already.”  Patrick chewed on his bottom lip, his leg bouncing like a jackhammer as he sat on the couch next to Jon. 

“I thought.”

“I know.  I can always not go if I decide to play next season.  But, I think this is what I want to do.  If I play I may still take an online class.”  Patrick said cautiously.  “Or, two.  Maybe.””

“This is really something you want to do?”

“Yep.”  Patrick leans over, letting their shoulders touch and dropping his head down on Jon’s shoulder.  “I think this is what I want.  Jason’s going to help me.  And I’m gonna start volunteering at the shelter fulltime.  It’ll give me something to do while you’re playing.  And well, I can set my own hours and everything, so I can still be around when you’re home.”

Jon tosses the brochure onto the coffee table.  He leans his head back and closes his eyes.

“Jonny?”  Patrick reaches and takes Jon’s hand.  “You’re okay with this, right?”

“Yeah, Peeks.”  Jon lifted his head and turned to brush his lips on the top of Patrick’s head, kissing his curls lightly.  “If you want to do this, I’m all for it.”

He hoped he sounded convincing.  Given that Patrick squeezed his hand and let out a happy sigh, it must have come across that way.  It was March.  The Hawks were going to make the playoffs.  He had hoped Patrick would be back with the team for that.  He had dreamed of them hoisting the Cup together many more times during their careers.  Now, he was watching that dream slip away.

\---------------------------------------------------------------

“And, there’s a statistics class I want to take.  Maybe I could get into analytics, ya know.  Work for the Hawks doing that.  That would be cool, huh.”  Patrick said excitedly.

It was the happiest Sharpy had seen him in months.

“That would be cool, Peeks.  What other classes do you think you’d take?”

They sat and ate lunch while Patrick told Sharpy all about what courses he wanted to take.  His eyes sparkled and danced with a warmth and energy that had been missing for a long time.  He was practically bouncing in his seat with energy for a change.  Sharpy listened intently, letting Patrick ramble on about all that the university offered.

“That’s great, Peeks.”  He said.  “I’m happy for you.  If this is what you want.”

“I think it is.  I mean, every time I think about it I get more and more excited.  And Jon’s starting to feel that way, too.  I think he might take an online class.  Work on finishing his degree.”

“Toes?  Going back to school.  That’ll be interesting.”  Sharpy chuckled.

“I think it’s a good thing.”

“I’m not saying it’s not, just, Captain Serious doesn’t really need more stress in his life.”

“Why do you say that?”  Patrick asked, a hint of worry in his voice, his body suddenly tense.  “He’s okay.  We’re okay.”

“Hey, no.  Don’t be so paranoid, Peeks.  That’s not what I meant.  You know what, maybe it would be good for him now that I think about it.  Give him something besides hockey to obsess about.”

Patrick relaxed again.  “Yeah.  He is a little obsessive isn’t he.”

Sharpy laughed as Patrick took a bite of his sandwich.  He’d thought that the best thing for Patrick would be to get back into hockey, to play again.  Now he wasn’t so sure.  Patrick certainly acted like this was what he wanted.  He’d have to keep a close eye on things, though.  Despite what Patrick said, he wasn’t too sure Jonny was on board with this plan.


	23. Accepting What Will Be?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Okay. Last present.” Jon hands him the last bag.
> 
> Patrick pulls out a backpack. A Buffalo Sabres backpack.
> 
> “Jonny! This is perfect.” Patrick was beaming.
> 
> “Well, since I got you a Hawks one before, I figured I owed you a Buffalo one.”
> 
> “Thank you! This is all… wow…”
> 
> “I really am proud of you, ya know, for doing what you want to do.” Jon hugged Patrick. “I love you, Peeks. Sometimes I’m an asshole. You’re right. But like you’re my idiot…”
> 
> “You’re my asshole.” Patrick finished with a chuckle. “Yeah. You are.”

The Hawks make the playoffs.

Jon hopes that will be what finally gets Patrick to go to another game.

And it does.  Sort of.

Jon wanted Patrick to either sit with the other player families, or in the owners’ box, or even up in the press box with some of the other healthy scratches.  Instead, Patrick brings the staff and kids from Patrick’s Place to the game to watch from his charity box.

Patrick did his best to keep it all lowkey and things were fine until the camera guys got wind that he was in the building.  At the first television break, his picture, big as life, appeared on the jumbotron.  Patrick looked horrified when Jon looked up to see what the crowd was roaring about.  Patrick managed to collect himself and wave.

The crowd stood and stayed standing until just before the puck was dropped to start play again.  Jon hoped that fact wasn’t lost on Patrick.  The fans missed him.  Patrick, it seemed, didn’t care.  After another round of arguments with Jon, Patrick didn’t go to another game during the first round.

\---------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Hawks won their first round, beating the Blues in six games.  They took on the Minnesota in the second round, and beat the Wild in five games. 

It was the day after they won game five that Patrick got the acceptance letter in the mail.

“I got in, Jonny!”  He yelled from the living room to Jon in the kitchen. 

Jon didn’t respond.  Not even a grunt of acknowledgement or a groan of despair.  Nothing.

“Jonny, did you hear me?”  Patrick yelled.  “I’m a college man!”

Jon walked in to the living room, sipping on a cup of tea.  “I heard you.  No need to yell, Patrick.”

Oh. 

Patrick cringed.  He had hoped they were done fighting about this.  Hoped that Jon had accepted it.  But his look and tone clearly said different.

“Can’t you be happy for me?  Be just a little excited?”

“I’m happy for you.  Okay.  Congrats.  Woohoo!  You’re going back to school.”  Jon didn’t even try to hide his sarcasm.  He sat down in one of the chairs instead of on the couch with Patrick.

“Fuck you, asshole.”  Patrick swore at him.

“Sorry.  I’ll try to show more enthusiasm for you throwing away your hockey career.”

“It’s not what I want anymore, Jon.  We’ve only had this discussion a fucking trillion times now.  It’s what you want.”

“I thought it was what we wanted.”

Patrick huffed and got up.  “I’m gonna go call Sharpy with the news.  At least he’ll be happy for me.”

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

“You need to quit being an asshole, Jon.”  Sharpy admonished him at practice the next day.  “You’re just going to end up driving him away.”

“I already have.”  Jon kept his head down, not looking up, focusing on lacing his skates.  “At least, I feel like I have.  So, what’s the point.”

“I thought things were better?  After he came home, you said he was better.”  Sharpy said.  “He came to a game, right?”

“A game.  One.”

“So, maybe he’ll come to the conference final.”

“I doubt it.”

“I’ll ask him.  Okay.  Maybe he’ll come.”

“I don’t care if he does.  He can do what he wants, fuck him.”

“The two of you are going to be the death of me.”  Sharpy shook his head slowly.  “I swear.  If you’d just fucking talk to each other.”

“We talk.”

“You yell.”  Sharpy corrected.  “You yell about the most inconsequential, meaningless, trivial things.  And don’t talk about what’s important.”

“How is Patrick not playing hockey not important.”

“Jon.  Really?”  Sharpy rested his hand on Jon’s shoulder.  “Patrick’s here.  He’s here to tell you he doesn’t want to play hockey.  He’s here to go to college.  That’s what’s important.”

With that, he stood and walked away to let his words sink in.  Jon sat up and watched him go. 

When Jon didn’t show up on the ice for practice, Sharpy went to Coach Q.

“Where’s Toes?  Did I ruffle his feathers too much?”

“Said he didn’t feel well, took a sick day.”  Q answered.  “What did you say to him.”

“Nothing, really.  Just pointed out something to him.  I’ll call him later and make sure we’re okay.”

\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Patrick?”  Jon called.  “Peeks, you home?”

He wandered in to the kitchen and found the note stuck to the counter top.

_Therapy appt.  Be home around 4.  Dinner?_

Good, Jon thought.  That would give him time.

When Patrick came home, he was met with a kiss by Jon at the door.  Jon didn’t say a word, but led Patrick in to the living room.  There was a blanket spread on the floor with some pillows.  The room was lit by several candles.  Jon had Patrick sit on the floor and he disappeared to the kitchen.  When he came back, he carried two plates of food.

“Roasted chicken and risotto.”  Jon handed Patrick his plate.

“Wow.  To what do I owe all this.”  Patrick asked as Jon sat down with his own plate.

Jon sat his plate down.  He took a bottle of wine out of the bucket of ice where it had been chilling and poured them each a glass.

“We’re celebrating.”  Jon said.   He lifted his glass.  “To you.  Congratulations on being accepted to the University of Chicago.  I’m so proud of you, Patrick.”

Patrick eyed Jon suspiciously as they clinked glasses.  “Thank you.”

“Okay.  Let’s eat, then I have some presents for you.”  Jon smiled warmly at him. 

They ate their dinner, talking about what classes Patrick thought he’d take in the fall.  Jonny listened intently, offered some advice on what not to take, and acted completely happy for Patrick.  For his part, Patrick let himself be excited about the prospect of going to college finally.  He was confused by this turnaround by Jon, but he’d take it.  For as long as it lasted.  He figured it wouldn’t last long.

After dinner, Jon cleared their plates while Patrick poured them another glass of wine and waited.  Jon returned with several gift bags.

“So.  I didn’t know exactly what you’d need, so I thought what the hell, and just bought a bunch of stuff.”

He sat down next to Patrick and handed him the first bag.  Patrick pushed the tissue paper aside and reached in cautiously.  He pulled out a three-ring binder.  Then another four.  Each a different color.

“You got me supplies?”  Patrick laughed.  “Only you, Jonny.”

“You’re going to need these things, Patrick.”

“We could have gone shopping together.”

“I wanted to surprise you.”  Jon leaned over and kissed him on the temple.

“Yeah.  You’ve surprised me alright.” 

Jon handed him another bag.  This one contained a half dozen ruled notebooks.  A third bag contained pencils, pens, a ruler, colored pencils, markers, highlighters, a stapler, several thumb drives, and an extremely expensive looking calculator.  For all the stat classes Patrick would be taking, Jon said.

Then Jon handed him another bag. 

“Since you’re gonna be a college man, you’ll need to look the part.”  Jon told him.

Patrick reached into the bag and pulled out a U of C hoodie.

“Wow, thank you.”  Patrick said.  “This is all great.”

“You like it?”  Jon nodded at the sweatshirt.

“Yeah.  Thank you.”

“Okay.  Last present.”  Jon hands him the last bag.

Patrick pulls out a backpack.  A Buffalo Sabres backpack.

“Jonny!  This is perfect.”  Patrick was beaming.

“Well, since I got you a Hawks one before, I figured I owed you a Buffalo one.”

“Thank you!  This is all… wow…”

“I really am proud of you, ya know, for doing what you want to do.”  Jon hugged Patrick.  “I love you, Peeks.  Sometimes I’m an asshole.  You’re right.  But like you’re my idiot…”

“You’re my asshole.”  Patrick finished with a chuckle.  “Yeah.  You are.”

“Can I ask something, and you not get mad.” 

Patrick pulled back.  “I’ll come to the conference final.  Yeah.  You don’t need to ask.”

“Well, that too.  And wow, okay.  But what I was going to ask was if we could, um, maybe, if we could go talk to the therapist, together.”

“Oh.”  Patrick inhaled sharply.  “Uh.  Oh.”

“If you don’t want to, that’s okay.  I just thought it would be, maybe, good for us.”

“Um.  Uh.”  Patrick stuttered.  “Uh, yeah.  Yeah, okay.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah.  Yeah, I think it would be, yeah.  Okay.”

“Great.”  Jon jumped up.  “I have dessert, too.  Be right back.”

Later that night, Patrick wore his new sweatshirt, and nothing else, as he let Jon show him just how much he really did love Patrick.


	24. Words of Wisdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Now. Ol’ Goodie might not be a psychologist or anything, but I’ve lived a good long life. And I’ve learned a lot of things along the road. One of them is how to read people. That’s why I didn’t call the police on you that first night I met you. I could tell you just needed a friend, and someone to talk to while you figured your life out. And back then I listened, and you talked. Well now you need to listen while I talk.”
> 
> “Okay.” Patrick sat up straight in his chair and kept his eyes fixed on Goodie. “I’m listening.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long... I really don't like going this long between updates... but...
> 
> I was okay with how we got to this point.... and I know where we are going to end at some point... but I couldn't work this chapter out in my head... 
> 
> I hope you like what finally flowed out...

It takes seven games, but the Hawks outlast the Sharks to win the Western Conference Final, and Patrick is at every game, even the away games.  The first trip to California for games three and four is a nerve-racking experience for Jon, and Patrick. 

Of course, there is a lot of press, and lots of questions about whether or not Patrick will play the next season.  They manage to deflect the attention fairly well.  By the return trip for game six, things are much better.  Patrick is also much more relaxed around his teammates, who have quit asking about his return as well.

Jon’s mind is on overload with hockey, but he finds the time, and energy, to go to a therapy session with Patrick. 

It goes well.  Sort of.  Not really.  Ok, not at all.

The therapist scheduled them for two hours.  The first part of the session would be a half-hour with just Patrick, then a half-hour with just Jon.  The last hour would be with both. 

When Patrick came out of his individual session, he looked distracted, worried.  Jon went in for his session looking apprehensive over that. 

“He’s worried about why you wanted this.”  She told Jon when he sat down, before he could even ask.

“I told him why.”

“Yes, but he doesn’t trust you.”  She replied.  “He doesn’t trust anyone.”

“Why wouldn’t he…”

“He doesn’t even trust himself, Jon.”

“trust me…”  Jon had been leaning forward.  He sat back as if she’d shoved him, his head snapping up.  “What?”

“He asked me to talk to you.  He says you’re better about him not playing, but he thinks you hate him for it.  And he doesn’t trust his decisions right now.  He needs your support and reinforcement.”

“He said that?  Why won’t he say that to me.  See, that’s why I suggested we come here together.”

“What do you want to come out of a couple’s session?”

“I want Patrick and me to be okay.”

“You don’t think you are?”

“I don’t know.  And now, now you tell me he doesn’t trust me.  What am I supposed to think?”

That’s how it started for Jon.  How it ended was Patrick yelling.  Jon yelling.  Then no one talking.

On the ride home, Jon drove.  He kept his eyes fixed on the road ahead, both hands clenched around the steering wheel tightly.  Patrick sat in the passenger seat staring out the side window, his head resting against the glass. 

Once they got home, they each went to a neutral corner.  Jon, out to the patio where he puttered around in his garden.  Patrick to the bedroom where he laid down to try and take a nap.  He tossed and turned for a half hour unable to make his brain quiet down. 

Patrick laid on his back staring up at the ceiling.  He felt… numb.  That was it.  He felt nothing.  Except.  For one thing.  There was one thing that he felt.  That he knew in his heart.  One thing that he had held on to every day while Bill Anderson had kept him prisoner.  One constant that had led him home eventually, more than once even.  He scrambled up and rushed to find Jon.

He raced through the house, stopping at the French doors leading out to the patio.  Jon was sitting in one of the deck chairs, a large pot of dirt between his legs as he planted the pepper plants he’d bought yesterday.  He had dirt all over his hands, and when he brushed the hair off his forehead his hand left a dark streak of dirt. 

Patrick watched Jon jab the potting trowel into the dirt.  Hard.  Angry.  Taking his frustrations out on the dirt.  He jammed to plant into the hole he’d made.  Suddenly, Jon stopped.  He sat and looked at the poor plant that had flopped over as soon as he let it go.  He studied the plant for several minutes, then carefully straightened it, pushing dirt gently around the roots.  He sat back in the chair and Patrick saw the tears come to Jonny’s eyes.

Patrick’s hand froze on the door handle. 

Jon.  That was Patrick’s constant, the love he felt for Jon.  It was the one thing deep down in his soul that had kept him going.  That still was why he still kept going.  And there was Jon, crying because of Patrick.

Patrick didn’t open the door, didn’t go out, just stood there watching Jon for a few seconds.  Then he turned and went back to the bedroom. 

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Stanley Cup Final begins, and Jon tries to give hockey his full attention.  To those on the outside, everything appeared to be all sunshine and roses.  Patrick goes to the games, travels with them to the away games in Tampa Bay.  Jon and Patrick act like the happy pair everyone wanted them to be.

Appearances can be deceptive.

When they are home, they spend their time in different rooms.  If Patrick is in the kitchen, Jon is in the living room.  If Jon is in the kitchen doing dishes, Patrick is in the laundry room.  Patrick has been sleeping on the couch so that Jon can sleep in the bed because he needs the rest more. 

The thing is, neither of them are sleeping well regardless of where they are sleeping.

When the Hawks come back to win game six and force a game seven, Jon and the rest of the team fly back to Chicago feeling more optimistic than they had when they flew to Florida.  Patrick stayed in Tampa Bay an extra day.

Goodie had made a run to Florida and had joined Patrick at the game.  Together they’d watched as the Hawks struggled back from a 2-0 deficit to tie it in the third, then Jonny had put the go ahead goal in with just under two minutes left.  After the game, Goodie took Patrick out to dinner while the Hawks flew home.

“What if I just stayed with you all summer?”  Patrick asked as they sat in the Italian restaurant.  He pushed the angel hair pasta around on his plate.

“No.”

Patrick looked up.  Goodie was staring at him, a firm, determined look on his face.

“But, why?”

“Cause you can’t keep runnin’ away from your problems, Patrick.”

“I’m not…”

“Bull.”  Goodie cut him off.  “That’s exactly what you’re doin’.  Well, I hate to tell you boy, but life’s a bitch.  And you can’t out run a coonhound.”

Patrick tipped his head. “Huh?  What?”

“Something my Mama used to say.  She’d say, Thurgood, you just like that poor coon they hunt and your worries is always gonna be like those coonhounds.  They gonna track you down no matter where you try to hide.”

“I just wish that, I don’t know.  Jon’s been…”

“Jonny’s been nothing but good to you.”  Goodie cut him off again and Patrick huffed at him.  “Don’t you huff at me.  Jon loves you more than life itself, boy.  He’s tryin’ his very hardest to make everything okay for you.  He doesn’t want to fight.  He doesn’t want to do anything that might hurt or upset you.  So he tippy-toes around, afraid to do anything wrong.  And he gives you everything.  You want it, he makes it happen.  And then you treat him the way you do?”

“I don’t treat Jon…”

“Oh yes you do.”  Goodie cuts him off for a third time.  “You don’t talk to him.  You don’t want this.  You don’t want that.  You want to run away and spend the summer with me.  What you think he’s thinkin’ right now cause you didn’t go back to Chicago with him?  Hhhmmm…. “

Patrick shrugs, his gaze darting down to his plate. 

“You know.  He’s thinkin’ he’s losing you again.  And again. And again.  He keeps thinking he’s gonna lose you.”

“Did he tell you that he…”

“He told me what happened at your therapy session.  How you don’t trust him or nobody.  You trust me?”

“Well, yeah.  I…”

“Uh huh.  You known me how long?  And you’re supposed to be in love with Jonny.  And yet, you trust me and not him?  Patrick, boy, that’s like the hen wanting to hang with the fox and not the rooster.  Mind you, I’m a pretty non-threatening fox, but still, you get the idea.”

The look on Patrick’s face was pure confusion.  “What?”

“He would give you the moon, Patrick.  He would do anything for you.”

“Except…”

“No except, boy.  Nothin’.  Do you hear me.  There is nothing Jon wouldn’t do for you.  So what is your problem.”

“I just think…”

“No, you don’t think.  That’s the problem.  That’s the problem and you can’t run away from yourself.”

Patrick dropped his fork and it clanged on his plate.  He huffed loudly.  “Are you going to let me say anything?”

“No.  You just need to sit there and listen.”

Patrick started to say something and Goodie shushed him, loud enough that a couple of people at another table stopped their conversation to look over at them.

“Now.  Ol’ Goodie might not be a psychologist or anything, but I’ve lived a good long life.  And I’ve learned a lot of things along the road.  One of them is how to read people.  That’s why I didn’t call the police on you that first night I met you.  I could tell you just needed a friend, and someone to talk to while you figured your life out.  And back then I listened, and you talked.  Well now you need to listen while I talk.”

“Okay.”  Patrick sat up straight in his chair and kept his eyes fixed on Goodie.  “I’m listening.”

“You and Jonny.  You both want the same thing.  You want to be happy.  And you want to be together.  Now, you think it doesn’t have to involve you playing hockey.  And Jon, he thinks it doesn’t either.”

“What?”

“He doesn’t care if you play hockey, Patrick.  Not really.  He’s accepted that.”

“But he…”

“Aren’t you supposed to be listening?”

“Sorry.”  Patrick folded his arms across his chest.  “Go on.”

“He just wants you.  While you were gone, he never gave up hope.  He never once believed you wouldn’t come home, or that you were dead.  Oh, he worried it might happen.  But he never believed it had happened.  You understand that?”  Goodie said.

“Um.  Okay.”

“But you.  You thought Jon was dead.  Didn’t you.  You believed what that man told you.  And you had given up on Jon.  Given up that you could have a life with Jon.  Am I right?”

“Yeah, um… yeah.”  Patrick hung his head and his hands dropped to his lap.  “I thought he was dead.”

“So you, in your mind.  You were ready to move on.  Without Jon.  But Jon.  He never accepted that.  He never was without you in a way, even though you were gone.  Does that make sense?”  Goodie explained to him.

“I…”

“Just say yes.”

“Yes.”  Patrick nods slowly.

“So, he’s much more scared of losing you again.  Of having to accept that he’d have a life without you.  Do you get that.  So he thinks, if you play hockey, you won’t leave him.  Does that make sense to you?  So, he’s going to let you do what you want.  Let you go to college.  Let you not play hockey.  Even though that makes him scared to death that he’ll lose you.  Now why would he do that/”

“Because…”  Patrick stops himself this time.  He sits and stares at his plate for several seconds before looking up at Goodie.

“Because he loves you more than life itself, Patrick.”  Goodie states softly.  “That boy would die before he’d do something that would hurt you.”


	25. Where Do We Go From Here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon didn’t know how long they stayed there, on the couch, just holding each other. Patrick finally lifted his head off Jon’s shoulder. He reached up and wiped at his eyes.
> 
> “So, what now?” Patrick asked.
> 
> “We go to bed.” Jon said, then laughed a little.
> 
> “No, I mean…”
> 
> “I don’t know.

Jon heard the door open and close, then the sound of a duffle bag hitting the floor. 

“Jon?”  Patrick called.

“In here.”  Jon answered.

Patrick made his way towards the sound of Jon’s voice.  The living room was dark except for the moonlight filtering in through the windows.  Patrick could just make out Jon’s form on the couch.

Jon was sitting upright, back straight, arms at his sides, hands resting on his lap.  Still.  Quiet.

“I wasn’t sure when you’d get home.”  Jon said, then added the _or if_ in his mind.

“Sorry.  I should have just flown home yesterday.”  Patrick made his way over to sit next to Jon.  He leaned into Jon and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.  “You didn’t have to wait up for me.”

Jon remained motionless.

“Jonny?  What’s wrong?”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”

A cold chill ran up Patrick’s spine, a wave of fear washing over him.

“I don’t…”  Patrick murmured.  “Jonny?”

“You’re going to leave me, aren’t you?”

“No.”  Patrick whispered.  He turned and climbed on Jon’s lap, straddling his thighs.  He draped his arms over Jon’s shoulders.  “I’m not going anywhere, Jon.  Why would you say that?”

“Cause.”  Jon sighed.  “You’re not happy, Patrick.  Not anymore.  Not with hockey.  Not with me.  Not with anything.”

“That doesn’t mean I’m going to leave.”

“You stayed with Goodie.  I didn’t think you’d be back.”  Jon said.  “I couldn’t sleep last night.  All I could think was that you were gone.  Like when…”

“When he had me.”  Patrick added when Jon’s words trailed off.  “Fuck him.  I hope he’s fucking rotting in hell.  What he did to me.  To us.”

Patrick dropped his head down on Jon’s shoulder, as Jon let his hands come up to slip around Patrick. 

“I’m sorry.  I’m sorry it’s so hard.  I don’t know what to do about it, Jonny.  I’m not happy, you’re right.  I’m not happy that he took almost everything I loved away from me.  My family.  My life.  Hockey.”  Patrick spoke slowly, precisely, trying his hardest to keep the overwhelming emotions at bay.  “He almost took you.”

“Patrick.”  Jon dipped his head, resting his cheek against Patrick’s.  He felt Patrick’s body shudder against him, as Patrick sucked in a deep breath.  “He couldn’t take me away from you.”

“I’m sorry.  I know.  I just.”  Patrick stuttered.  “Everyone expects me to be the same.  Even you.  And I can’t.  I’m not the same.”

“I know that, Peeks.  I guess I understand it.  I shouldn’t try to make you do something you don’t want to do.  It’s just hard.”

Patrick let himself melt into Jon’s embrace completely, his whole body going lax. 

“I’m not going to leave you.”  Patrick breathed into Jon’s shoulder.  “You’re the only good thing I have in my life.”

“That’s not true.  You have Sharpy, and the guys, and Goodie, and my family.  You have a lot of people who love you Patrick.  He didn’t take that away from you.”

“I know.”  Patrick sniffled.  “But, I feel like he did.  Still.  It’s like I’m never going to be okay again.  Never trust things.  There are times, a lot of the time, that I think he’s still out there.”

“It’s just going to take time.  We’ll figure it all out, but you’re right, we all thought you’d just come back and everything would be all okay.  We tried to rush you, didn’t we?  I’m sorry.”  Jonny reassured Patrick.

Patrick’s head snapped up.  The light catching his face showed Jon the fear that flooded over Patrick.

 “No.  You don’t get it.  He’s going to come back, Jon.  What if, what if he really wasn’t dead again?  What if the police were lying about finding him.  I can’t help it.  I worry.  And when I try to be around a lot of people, or like at the games, if I tried playing again, I’d be out there.  He’d see me.  Want to take me again.” 

“Patrick, he’s dead.  He really is dead this time.  He’s not coming back.”  Jon pulled back, trying to read Patrick’s face in the dim light.  “Patrick?  No one is going to take you, or hurt you again.  Okay?”

Patrick dropped his head down to Jon’s shoulder again.  “I’m sorry.  I’m sorry.  It’s okay.  Please, just.  It’s okay.  I’ll stop thinking it.  Then it’ll be okay.  Right?  I can do this.  I can get past this.  I can.  I’ll do it.”

“Not by yourself you can’t.   And it’s driving you away from us when you need us the most  You need to let us help and not run away from it Patrick.  You can’t hide from your fears or they take over your life.”

“That’s what Goodie said.”

“Yeah?  He told me the same thing then, cause that’s who I got that from.”

Jon didn’t know how long they stayed there, on the couch, just holding each other.  Patrick finally lifted his head off Jon’s shoulder.  He reached up and wiped at his eyes.

“So, what now?”  Patrick asked.

“We go to bed.”  Jon said, then laughed a little.

“No, I mean…”

“I don’t know.  I have one more game.  Then, how about you and I go away.  Just the two of us.  Anywhere you want.  We spend a month not thinking about anything, not doing anything.  We just spend the time doing nothing but getting rested and getting better.”

“What if you win?”

“Then we have a parade.  And we get to do all kinds of fun stuff with the Cup.  Then we go on vacation.  Just the two of us.”

“If you win… when you win… I don’t think I want to come down to the ice.  Is that okay?”  Patrick asked, timidly, unsure of Jon’s reaction.

“That’s fine, Patrick.  You’ll come to the locker room, though?  I want you to be there with me.”

“I could try, yeah.  I think I could do that.”

Jon patted Patrick’s back.  “Come on, it’s late.  Let’s go to bed.  We can start looking for vacation spots in the morning, okay?  Tomorrow we start getting better.”

“Okay.”  Patrick said as he got up.  He took Jon’s hand as they walked to the bedroom.  “I feel like I should be in that movie, with what’s her name, Scarlet.”

“Why’s that?”

“Cause I can hear that line from that movie, after all, tomorrow is another day.  Tomorrow.  We start fresh tomorrow.”

“Yep.  We start fresh tomorrow.”  Jon tugged Patrick around to his front, pulling him into a kiss.  “Tomorrow is another day.”

\---------------------------------------------------------------

Game seven in Chicago was sizing up to be a wild affair.  At the end of the first period, it was 1-1.  At the end of the second, it was still tied, at three now. 

Patrick sat in Jon’s box with Jason, the staff, and kids from Patrick’s Place again.  They’d been at the first game and now they were at the last game of the playoffs.  Goodie was there, he and Patrick had driven to Chicago together from Tampa Bay.  Goodie hadn’t been going to come to the game, but Patrick begged, so Goodie rearranged his schedule.

The third period was torture for Patrick.  Goodie couldn’t help laughing at Patrick animated movements and running commentary on the game.

“No! No! No!”  Patrick exclaimed, throwing his hands up.  “That wasn’t holding!  Stupid penalty Duncs!”

“Oh my god!  Crow, what was that?  What a save, man!”  He yelled at the goaltender more than once.

“Jonny, you idiot!  You know better!  Keep your head up!”  He screamed when Jon got caught flat-footed after a bad pass got picked off.

Patrick squirmed in his seat with each close shot.  When Jon got a breakaway late in the game, Patrick moved with him down the ice.  Leaning right.  Then left. 

“Backhand.  Go backhand.”  He said as he moved the imaginary stick in his hands.  “Now.  Deke right and…”

The crowd erupted when the puck lofted over the glove hand of Vasilevskiy.  Patrick jumped up, screaming wildly. 

“Goal!  Fucking beaut Jonny!”  He turned and hugged Goodie.  “Did you see that!  Fuck yeah!”

With just over a minute left, Patrick was bouncing in his seat.  He kept looking at Goodie.

“Go on.  Go celebrate with your boy.”  Goodie laughed at him.

Patrick sprang up and headed for the locker room.  He got down there just as the buzzer sounded and the United Center went wild.  Everybody he met was yelling, grabbing him for a hug, tossing out high fives and fist bumps.  He got out to the bench in time to watch the handshake line. 

Jon saw Patrick and headed straight for him. 

“I didn’t think you were going to come down if we won.”  Jon skated up to the bench.

“I changed my mind.”  Patrick smiled shyly, looking down.

“I’m glad.”

“Yeah.  Me too.”  Patrick looked up.  Jon leaned over the boards and pulled Patrick into a massive hug.  “I wouldn’t have missed this for anything, though.  Way to go, Jonny.”

“Come out on the ice with us.  You’re still a part of this team, Peeks.”  Jon said, pulling back.  “Please.  One last time.”

Patrick hesitated.  “I don’t know.”

“Please.”  Jon looked so happy, Patrick couldn’t say no.  He hopped over the boards and held Jon’s hand as they made their way out to the others.

“Hey!  Peeks!”  Sharpy exclaimed, throwing his arms around Patrick.  “We won!  Can you fucking believe it!”

One by one, Patrick’s teammates hugged him as he joined their celebration.  He couldn’t have felt any prouder as he watched Jon accept the Cup and take his lap.  He brought it over and handed it to Patrick, who stood there, shocked.  Slowly he raised the Cup over his head and pumped it in the air, tipping his head back and kissing it as he brought it down.  Then, Patrick turned and handed the Cup to Crow, the Conn Smythe winner.

Jon stood with his arms around Patrick’s waist, hugging him.  Patrick leaned back into Jon, taking it all in.  He would miss this.  Oh, yeah, he’d celebrate anytime Jon won in the years to come, but not with the team.  Not as one of them.

Jon read Patrick’s body language, his expression, which had grown less animated and more serene, serious.

“I know what you’re thinking.”  He bent and said into Patrick’s ear.  “But it will be okay.  You’re always gonna be a part of the team.  That’ll never change.  And for as long as we’re together, you’ll be a part of every celebration.  Cause I couldn’t do this without you, Patrick.”

Patrick laid his arms over Jon’s that were holding him so tight.  He tipped his head to the side, turning to kiss Jon’s cheek.

“I love you.  You know that, right, Jonny?”

“Yep.  I know that.”  Jon grinned.

 

 


	26. A Life Together

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His life was good. He was happy. 
> 
> Patrick looked up, scanning the rink. His eyes settled on Jon who was shooting one-timers. Practice had been over for q good 15 minutes, but Jon was still out there. Jon looked up and Patrick tapped his watch. Jon waved for Patrick to come down to the ice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this part of Patrick and Jon's story comes to an end with a the promise of a future. I'd like to get a couple of chapters done before I start posting the next part, so I'd look for it to be up within a week or two.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, I love that my work can make so many people happy. I love your comments and kudos, it keeps me going.

Late August…

Jon could hear Patrick moving about, getting his shower and getting dressed.  Jon finished packing Patrick’s lunch, a sandwich, some chips, cookies, and a yogurt.  He wrote out a little note and stuck it in with his food.  He grabbed a couple of bottled drinks out of the fridge and an ice pack from the freezer.  He put it all in the lunch bag, and put the lunch bag in Patrick’s backpack, the Buffalo Sabres backpack Jon had gotten him.

He felt so domestic, his Maman would be laughing at him.  He started fixing them breakfast.

“Hey, have you seen my…”  Patrick came hurrying into the kitchen, “oh, there it is.”

He grabbed his backpack, digging around inside for something.

“Hey, did you pack me a lunch?  Awesome.  Thanks.”  He said, pushing the lunch bag aside.  He pulled out a couple of books and a notebook, flipping through the pages.  “Aha!  Here it is!”

“What’d you lose?”  Jon asked, scrambling the eggs in the fry pan.

“My schedule.  That wouldn’t have been good.”

Jon chuckled.  “Like you don’t already have it memorized.”

Patrick huffed.  “Just want to make sure.”

“What’s your first class today?”  Jon pushed the bread slices down into the toaster.

“Basic numerical analysis.  Some sort of algebra class.  Then I have an English class today, too.”

“Just the two?”

“Yep.  Tomorrow and Thursday are my full days.  Another math class, a history class, and intro to business something.”

“You sure you aren’t taking too much too soon?”

“Nope.  This is good.  I have nothing else going, Jon.  Can spend all my time on my class work.”  Patrick chirped happily, putting the items back in the backpack.  He looked up and saw the brief hurt look on Jon’s face.

“Hey, just until the season starts.  Then I split my time between school and watching you.”  Patrick walked over and slipped his arms around Jon’s middle, laying his head on Jon’s back.  “And I come to as many games as I can.  And I travel with you if I can.  And we do this.  Just like we talked about this summer.”

“I know.  It’ll be fine.”  Jon rested his hands over Patrick’s.  “You’re gonna do great.”

\------------------------------------------------------------------

Early October…

“Jon?”  Patrick calls as he walks in to the house.  He kicks off his shoes and drops his backpack by the door.  “Where you at?”

“In here.”  Jon calls from the kitchen.

Patrick makes his way to the kitchen, jumping up to sit on the counter next to where Jon is fixing dinner.

“How’d it go?”

“Aced it.”  Patrick beamed.  “Hundred percent.”

“I should hope so, we studied our asses off.”

“We did.”  Patrick reaches over and steals a piece of carrot.  “What’s for dinner?”

“Some new recipe Maman sent.  Vegan something.  Think you’ll survive?”

Patrick brought his hands to his throat and made gagging noises.

“Fuck you.”

“You know I’ll love it.”  Patrick laughed, reaching for another carrot.  Jon smacked his hand.  “Ow!”

“Stop stealing then.”

“I feel like I should be helping.  You’re the one with the big day tomorrow.  Season opener, baby!.  You need to not exert yourself too much today.”  Patrick hopped down.  He went and found a knife and came back to help Jon. 

“I don’t think fixing dinner is strenuous exercise, Peeks.” 

Patrick put the knife down.  Stepping behind Jon, he wrapped his hands around Jon’s waist.  He casually started to undo the snap of Jon’s shorts, then worked the zipper down.

“We can make it a bit more… exciting.”  Patrick kissed between Jon’s shoulder blades.

“Hhhhmmmm..”  Jon mused.  “Tempting.”

“Tempting?”  Patrick sounded offended.  “Just… tempting?”

“I don’t know, Peeks, gonna have to try harder than just groping me.”  Jon dead-panned as Patrick’s hands worked their way into his pants.

“You know what. I’ll show you harder.”  Patrick said determinedly as took the knife out of Jon’s hand and put it down on the counter, then he took Jon’s hand and pulled him to their bedroom.

\----------------------------------------------------------------

Late November…

Patrick sat in the stands at the United Center, about ten rows from the ice.  His backpack sat on the seat next to him.  He looked up every so often to find Jon on the ice.

The paper he was typing for his English class was almost done.  He liked being able to come to practice and work on his school work, the sounds of the rink still comforting to him. 

Today was his birthday.  He turned 22.

Jon had promised they’d have a special day after practice.  Maybe go to a movie, or anywhere Patrick wanted to go.  Later, they’d go out for a nice quiet dinner, just the two of them.  The guys had a cake waiting in the locker room for him when he’d gotten there with Jon that morning.  They sang happy birthday and gave him presents.

Patrick missed hockey.  Well, a part of him did if he was being honest with himself.  He missed being a part of the team.  He sometimes thought about finding a rec league to play in, but with his classes, going to Jon’s games, and traveling when he could, he really didn’t have time.

He was doing well with his classes, but then school had always come easily to him.  His worry would be that he’d get bored with it at some point, as he had with high school.  But then again, he was different than he’d been as a teenager.  He knew what he wanted from life now.

Patrick wasn’t sure that Jon had completely accepted him not playing hockey, but Jon never complained or pushed the issue anymore.  He did support everything Patrick did.  Completely.  He helped him study for tests and proof-read papers.  He never argued if Patrick said he couldn’t go to a game because of his school work.

Jon also went to therapy once a week with Patrick.  They were still working on a lot of things.  Mostly they were working on… Patrick.  Patrick learning to trust in himself, trust in others.  Trust in Jon.

In return, Patrick had tried to make it to every game.  He’d only missed maybe a handful so far.  He was already looking forward to getting a break between semesters, so he could travel with the Hawks.  He and Jon were also planning a big Christmas at their house, with Jon’s family coming.

His life was good.  He was happy. 

Patrick looked up, scanning the rink.  His eyes settled on Jon who was shooting one-timers.  Practice had been over for q good 15 minutes, but Jon was still out there.  Jon looked up and Patrick tapped his watch.  Jon waved for Patrick to come down to the ice.

Patrick shutdown his laptop and packed it in his backpack.  He grabbed his bag and his coat and made his way over to the rail by the tunnel.  He hoped over and dropped his stuff on the bench.

“You need to come to me.”  Jon said.

“I’m not coming out there.”

“I have a special birthday present for you.”  Jon said.

“You can bring it to me here.”

“No.  I can’t.  You need to come out here.”  Jon said.

Patrick huffed.  “Fine.  But if I fall and break my ass, I’m gonna kick yours.”

Patrick opened the bench door and stepped on to the ice.  He gingerly walked across the slick surface to center ice where Jon was waiting.

“How do you have a birthday present out here?”  Patrick asked, skeptical of Jon’s motives for getting him out on the ice.

Jon shucked his gloves, then took his helmet off, tossing them to the ice.  His hands found the gold chain around his neck and pulled it up over his head, then Jon got down on one knee in front of Patrick.

“What the fuck?”  Patrick gasped.  “What are you doing.”

Jon undid the clasp and slipped a small silver band inlaid with diamonds off the chain.  He reached and took Patrick’s hand.

“Patrick Timothy Kane, will you marry me.”

Patrick’s insides were shaking.  He looked around and saw the rest of the Hawks all standing in the bench area watching.  He turned back to Jon, who was looking up at him hopefully.

“Fuck, yeah.”  Patrick whispered.

Jon slipped the ring onto Patrick’s hand.  Patrick threw his arms around Jon as he stood up.

Cheers and catcalls came from the bench and Patrick took his arm from around Jon’s neck just long enough to flip them off.  He kept his head buried against Jon’s neck.

“Holy shit.  I can’t believe this.”  He whispered. 

“I love you, Peeks.  More than anything in the world.”

“I love you, Jonny.”

Patrick pulled back, so Jon could kiss him. 

As they made their way off the ice, Patrick stared down at the ring on his finger.  It wasn’t just a ring.  It was a future.  A future with Jon.  A future he could believe would be his.


End file.
